


The Space In Between

by FourthAxis



Series: Alphaverse [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal, Alpha Will, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Case, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal loosing his cool due to distance, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Oppressive Society, Pining, Slow Burn, Will Knows, more or less
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourthAxis/pseuds/FourthAxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3100748">The Apex Predator</a>.</p><p>Will Graham used to be a Beta with one too many problems in life. Now he was an Alpha with even more troubles weighting down on him. He never wanted any of this, but least of all he wanted the love of a dangerous man responsible for most of his issues. And yet he had it and he returned it, and he didn't know what to do with it.</p><p>Hannibal, on the other hand, had one fairly simple issue. He just wanted his mate back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title was brought to you by shuffling the music folder and picking something at least 20% relevant. [Part one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3100748) is mandatory since this is a direct sequel, but here's a brief refresher: 
> 
> Will was a Beta but Hannibal found out something and decided to meddle with his biology. Between his games as The Ripper and meddling with Will, he also fell in love. They both did. A lot of crime solving, world building, crime-courting, murder and kidnapping happened in between, but just as a bond was made, Will found out The Truth™. The drugs took him in a coma from which he ~very fortunately~ woke up a changed man. A changed, angry and hurt man. He confronted Hannibal with an ultimatum. They had a jolly good fight and somehow both lived against all arguable odds.
> 
> I'll try to keep this weekly, every Saturday. I have 3 finished chapters in stand-by so I hope the schedule works out.

Dr. Murry had been looking at his file for too long, and it could be perceived as nothing but alarming. Will didn't think he asked for the impossible; just a week away from home, from the hospital. The medication should be issued to him personally and that’d be the end of that, the hopeful first step that would divorce him from the hospital visits. How much more blood did he have to give anyway? No one had answers for him, but that may have been because he had no questions, only silence that helped him look away from what was actually happening.

“Are you looking for a therapist,” she asked without even assuming he’d found one already, and with good reason.

“Still looking,” he said and her dismay was immediately drawn.

“Then allow me to play one,” the doctor threaded her fingers together and leaned in. _Play_ was a bit of an exaggeration because a licence for one hung on the wall behind her. “Have you noticed and changes since waking?”

Will had been asked that before, many times by many different people in this building, and all the answers he ever got from them were hums and nods as they wrote something down and gave him a shot of his medicine. He had a feeling Dr. Murry knew what his answer would be, what it had always been, as all those scribbled notes had to have reached her.

“Not many,” Will started as he always had. “Haven’t noticed any stark improvements with my sense of smell, but I’ve lost the need for my glasses.” He omitted to mention the change his palate underwent, mostly because he was certain it didn’t; he just had a lot of time on his hands with meat and blindfolds that helped him get to know what he was putting in his mouth.

“Half the time people can’t tell what I am, so I guess my scent isn’t very pronounced. I haven’t had trouble with aggression and my interaction with others has remained mostly unchanged. At most I have felt a little more bold in some situation,” Will said as he still felt old bruises throb, the ones earned in a challenge he didn’t expect to leave alive. “But only marginally.”

“You always give the same answer.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes and no,” and she glanced back at his medical record. “Your blood results have also been pretty static.”

Now he worried. “Is that also a problem?”

“Yes and no,” she closed his record and addressed him again, her tone going soft, the way it would be expected of an Omega when delivering news that might cause upset. “It implies the treatment was not a total success, though in your case you should be happy you’re awake.”

Will withheld comment, unsure what to make of this news. He heard about the possibility of a regression, but he heard about it as almost terminal news. Dr. Murry didn’t sound like she was delivering terminal news.

“It’s not a failure either,” she amended, “but you’ve been a Beta for too long to get that out of your system.” Will just nodded without giving much of a reaction and she had to ask, “You seem okay with this, with very little being changed. It’s likely going to stay that way,” and he nodded again. “Shouldn’t you be more upset by that? What was the point of going through with it then?”

Will had time to practice his reaction to such questions, no more chagrin and avoidance, no more disgust on his face for the bullshit that had to seep though his teeth as an answer. “I wasn’t happy with myself,” and the words would often leave him limp and lifeless but it was a better presentation than scorn and gritted teeth. He didn’t even have to dig his nails into his palms anymore. “I always felt something was missing.”

“And now you feel satisfied?”

“More than usually,” and for that he even managed a tight-lipped smile.

Dr. Murry stared at him for a long time and Will could feel the cracks in his facade spreading, threatening to reveal something they shouldn’t. The doctor saw him at his most volatile, fresh with confusion and hurt just after waking. Angry and breaking mirrors. Too many times she asked who helped him during the hormonal therapy, and too many times he answered with lies raw on his face, a wound still too fresh to mask properly. He was more than certain she still suspected the presence of another individual involved in this mess.

The Omega sighed and sat back, breaking off her pointed stare. She reached for a small box in her drawer and handed it over.

“That’s a two weeks’ worth dose,” she slid into her professional voice. “I expect you to be here for a check-up after those two weeks pass. If by that time you haven’t found a professional to talk to, I will have to call upon the Administration to proved one for you.” She looked at him with grave eyes, but her tone didn’t falter. “You don’t want that because if you’re luck they’ll give you a psychological evaluation on your second visit. You don't know what it's like to be an Alpha, Mr. Graham, and there’s a high chance of failure without preparation and knowledge of the protocol.”

Will went rigid with dread at the mention of a psych eval, a dreadful little piece of info he filed so far back in his mind he forgot about it entirely.

“If this sounds like a threat to you,” she continued, “it’s because it is. I want you to find someone who will help you, not someone who will prescribe you drugs just to get you off their back. They won’t mesh well with the ones your taking right now.” And at that she smiled, clearly satisfied with the reaction provoked in her patient. “See you in two weeks’ time and you better have a name and a number for me.”

+++

Will promised himself he wouldn’t run, but he needed some distance. Barely a week ago was when they last saw each other on his own welcome-back party, and despite all the anger he harboured, nature above his control betrayed him, his heart wanting to forgive and forget the moment they were close to each other. His mind couldn’t and it begged for distance and a clear head.

Work couldn’t give him the distraction he needed. He expected the Bureau to be strict and only reinstate him after a positive psych eval, but he did not expect the same rigor from the academy. They asked, at the very least, that he have a therapist before they’d even consider taking him back as a teacher.

Hannibal ruined any chances of that happening. Will had trouble trusting psychiatrist before, but now the damage was irreparable. And yet he had two weeks to come up with one. He thought about it for the length of his flight down to New Orleans. Alana was too by the book, but perhaps she could help him find one that wasn’t a serial killer.

It hurt Will to think of it and he felt every thought like a tightening vice around his chest, crushing on his heart. He was afraid of what The Ripper saw in him, what hid in him so ugly and vile and worth his love. It was the man who killed and found pleasure in it, the man Will barely recognized as himself. And yet, when the weight of day pressed on his shoulders, when worry and stress over his poorly glued-together life got the best of him, Will’s hand would seek the comfort left on his shoulder, the mark of their bond. Subconscious at first, but when he started noticing, it became the clutch for balance he hated and needed.

Distance was supposed to help him sort through it, help him settle between betrayal and forgiveness and clear up the armistice set in place in the name of whatever it was they felt for each other. And yet as soon as his plane landed, a crippling urge in him begged to close this physical distance and fly back to Baltimore.

“Hey dad,” he smiled when Eugene Graham opened the door of their old home. His eyes crinkled with lively surprise but there was an off moment of hesitance where something didn’t quite seem right for old man Graham.

Will had been seeing that same hesitance with all the people he knew and met after leaving the hospital. They all knew something was off.

“Willy,” he said finally, with joy in his voice and a smack to his arm for good measure. “There’s something different about you, but I can’t tell what.”

It was no simple subject to breach. Will had never talked about it before, never bothered to ask, didn’t even know where to start so he began where all of his visits do – a round of simple pleasantries and catching up to the bayou life since their last exchange of Christmas cards. Not much ever changed down here, though. His father still worked off the books, when there was work to be had. Never complained about a lack of anything, but old man Graham knew how to live with scarce resource. The spare money he’d earn would go in his old finishing boat where every weekend a select few old friends fished with a six pack of beer. Age and sickness slowly trimmed down their gang and Eugene complained about his poor back but would never agree to a hospital visit. He’d joke about not being let out, and that was a fear Will knew all too well.

When reminiscence died down, Will said it without hesitance before doubt could catch up to his tongue.

“I’m an Alpha.”

“What?” Eugene frowned with confusion and rubbed at his nose like he wasn’t sure if he believed it. He didn’t have the best nose in the world but it worked well enough to tell him something was off with his son, though this was a whole nother level of off.

“Hormone therapy.”

“Why,” the old Beta hit his fist against the table, disbelief panted across the tan ridges of his face. His voice was high strung when he said, “You could’ve killed yourself!”

And Will had to dig deep crescents into his palm as another person, his father of all people, thought him to blame and he could do nothing to deny it.

“I was in a bad place,” Will forced it out and quickly switched records before his father could dig more, “but I’m not here to talk about my shitty decisions. I want to talk about mom.”

Eugene was used to not pushing where resistance was found, let kids have their dramas and secrets, but he wished he could call on the same veto on the story he owed. He took a deep breath as the palm of his hand rubbed across his face. Never did he think they’d have this conversation. Would if he could die and never tell his boy about it. It wasn’t something to be told to child, and needles to be said to an adult, but to speak of it still felt like digging into an old scab for Eugene.

“It was different times back then,” he began, and let a struggling gap of silence fill the air before he was ready to continue. “Today I hear it’s safer for Alphas to carry children. Back then it was a gamble and we took one.”

Will noticed the difficulty in his father’s voice, the strain every word had to go through to be said. Eugene never remarried, never found someone else after his mother left them, and Will had to wonder if his father had the same difficulties as the ones Will was going through.

“I didn’t notice anything at first, but a few months after your birth she broke my nose for coming back home late,” and a short burst of laughs left him. “Then second later she was apologising, saying she had no idea what came over her. I kept ignoring all the warning signs, we both did even when she broke my arm, but then one day she turned her hand on you.”

And then Will noticed his father do the same thing, an old instinct bubbling to the surface as the old man’s hand reached to knead the place on his shoulder where old teeth marks still remained.

“Oh Christ,” Eugene shook his head, his eyes closed and travelling back through time and memory, “you were just two, and I didn’t know what to tell the paramedics. She was so ashamed, afraid to even touch you after that. Neither of us could ignore it any longer so we called some medical institutions and they told us they’d help her get better.”

When his father looked at him again, he was angry, but the anger was aimed at something big and unreachable. “For a while she was herself, just very tired and exhausted, constantly. But then as months went by she stopped walking, stopped talking, couldn’t even lift her head off the ground to look at you. Oh Will, what they do there is just not right,” and his fist landed on the table again, more exhausted than angry. “I didn’t want you to remember her like that so I stopped bring you along, and then I started lying.”

Will felt his throat tighten, like he couldn’t even swallow. He figured as much, he figured the story would go along those lines. Eugene never had bad words to say about the missing mother, not once. But hearing it spoken out loud brought his aim back at his own situation, at the man in Baltimore who ruined his life and claimed his heart. The man he kept lying for.

Will cleared his throat to allow words the passage. There was still a question on his mind. “But why did you change me? I remember the toll those expenses took on us. What was the point?”

“Oh, that one’s entirely on me. Single dad, Beta,” Eugene chuckled at his own expense, “I was afraid of raising a kid alone, and I was afraid of raising an Alpha. I didn’t think I was good enough for that job, and neither did the social service. It wasn’t a clear threat they’d take you away, but that’s how it took their visits, and that’s why I did the only thing I could.”

Will kept quiet. He always thought his father was above it, indifferent to the box society showed him in. But like Will he was just another good actor who knew the bitter taste of inferiority.

“I know it wasn’t the best choice I made as a parent, I know that. Your life would have been easier. But I couldn’t risk it, I didn’t wanna risk raising you poorly and I—,” the gleam of sadness in his eyes was unmistakable and Will couldn’t remember the last time he'd seen his father on the verge of tears. “I just didn’t wanna risk losing the last piece of her I had.”

Will and his dad stopped hugging around the time he left for college. It seemed odd to try and break that tradition now, as much as he felt he needed to, so Will just walked over and gripped him tight on the shoulder. “It’s ok,” he whispered, and it took Eugene a long time to look back up again.

+++

Will slept on the couch and it wasn’t the lack of comfort that kept him awake, or the fact his feet hung off the edge, or the chorus of crickets singing in the night.

It was the distance he felt again, and anxious growing bubble in his gut that couldn’t settle down, couldn’t let him rest. At first, Will chalked it up to anger, all those intrusive thoughts of Hannibal that wouldn’t give him peace.

Will promised not to run and now he felt like he couldn’t even if he tried. Every ounce of him missed Hannibal and his familiar scent, his closeness, his touch, his anything. Will wondered again if his father had it this bad, though chances were he had it much worse. There was still something for Will to return too, no matter how much it unnerved him to do it.

His hand reached beneath the collar of his shirt, fingers seeking to rub across the pulsing marks of teeth left on his shoulder. Eugene didn’t need to know about that. No one did. There were too many unethical threads etched into this uncanny bond they created, too many red flags and issues that would bring forth the unmentionable. The Ripper, the crime Will had to hide and keep and bear the burden of all the deaths like they were his own. He couldn’t form words to explain it, couldn’t give it a name, but it was a strong fear of loss that kept Will certain he wouldn’t report Hannibal. The loss of something he could never get back again.

Will kicked off the covers and sat up, exhausted and tense from all the sleep he couldn’t get. He pulled his shirt off on the way to the bathroom where cold water splashed over his face and chest. The reflection in the mirror looked only a little better than the sick self he remembered from six months ago. So little had changed he had to wonder what the point of it all was.

The distance struck him again like a blunt hammer across his chest, and Will had to take a deep few breaths to choke down the anxiety bubbling in him. If he was to have such a terrible time, he hoped Hannibal didn’t feel any better.

The bathroom door creaked and Will quickly slapped his shirt over the bite mark on his shoulder, hoping he was quick enough and the bathroom light dim enough.

“You alright,” Eugene asked.

Far from it, but he lied convincingly.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lack of attention and presence in mind was fully his to blame, but Hannibal could not muster the care for it and immediately he went for his phone. It had three messages and not one of them was from the person he’d hope to hear. It never was and perhaps that was getting to him a little, or a lot, because Bedelia started noticing.

Franklyn talked in circles again. He was rambling about something personal and important, something that had him at the edge of his seat. His tone was agitated, voice desperate for a pair of ears, and all of it was something Hannibal should have been paying attention to, but wasn’t. It was his last appointment of the day, but that was never a good excuse for such a blatant disregard of a patient’s needs. Patience and concentration seemed to elude him, and it wasn’t the first time he felt so out of his own element in the past month.

“You’re repeating yourself, Franklyn,” and he could tell that much from the words he did catch – my friend, my friend, my friend.

It was something about a dear friend that had his patient wound up, a refreshing topic to hear him talk about. Franklyn had the poor habit of focusing far too much on his therapist than his therapy, and rarely any progress was made. The Beta also harboured a great deal of personal fascination towards him, and Alphas in general, so he assumed as much of this mystery friend that occupied Franklyn’s attention for the moment. But knowing him, that was probably a vain attempt at jealousy, a last-ditch effort to provoke interest in Hannibal where there was none and could be none. He was not hired to be Franklyn’s friend after all.

When Hannibal checked his watch to see their session at an end, he couldn’t wait to see him gone. Next time he’d listen properly, maybe schedule him a few hours earlier.

“Everything all right,” Franklyn asked even as he was getting dressed. “You seem a little distracted. I hear talking about it helps.”

The attempted joke landed on deaf ears. “You needn’t concern yourself. This was your hour.”

“I just think,” and his patient stopped just at the exit, denying Hannibal all manners of peace for the evening. “I just think we’d make good friends, you know.”

“I’m not here to be your friend, Franklyn,” and he said it with a little more bite than would be deemed necessary, but some social cues had a tendency to fly right over Franklyn’s head.

“We like a lot of the same thing,” he kept talking, only moving outside the office when Hannibal encroached on his personal space to grab hold of the door. “Cheese, opera, fine art—”

“Franklyn.”

The exasperation written all over his therapist’s face broke through to the man. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

Hannibal nodded and gave him one last chance to turn away with dignity and leave, but it looked like the Beta was bound to talk more, probably apologies and keep apologising for the foreseeable minute and a half. “We’ll talk about it next time,” Hannibal said and pulled a smile before his patient could even say a word and the door closed a little too forcefully inches off his face.

The lack of attention and presence in mind was fully his to blame, but Hannibal could not muster the care for it and immediately he went for his phone. It had three messages and not one of them was from the person he’d hope to hear. It never was and perhaps that was getting to him a little, or a lot, because Bedelia started noticing.

“You’ve been mentioning Will Graham a lot lately,” his psychiatrist Dr. Du Maurier noted. “A lot more now that he’s awake than when he wasn’t.”

“Technically he’s still my patient,” Hannibal offered sound reasons, “and he hasn’t kept much contact with anyone since leaving the hospital.”

“Or perhaps he hasn’t kept much contact with you.”

She was right. It was from Alana he had to find out about Will leaving the state for a family visit. The moment he heard the news, it felt akin to a betrayal, but a day of thought brought him clarity and stopped him from tracking the other man down. Will promised not to run and technically he hadn’t, not yet. And Hannibal in turned promised not to seek him out unless asked and he hadn’t broken that promise, not yet.

Shared history made Bedelia a fine confidant, so the Alpha didn’t worry when another of his kind admitted to noticing a little too much. “You had unlimited visitations when he was asleep, but now they are limited. This is not the worry over a patient you’re exhibiting, Hannibal.”

The Alpha oppose her lifted an eyebrow, the ghost of a thin smile permeating on his lips. “It’s good then that out talks are covered by doctor-patient confidentiality,” she felt a need to amend, “because I see the nature of your relationship is highly unethical.”

Hannibal smiled then, full blown, and it unnerved her when he’d do that just for being seen, just for someone peeking behind the well tailored person suit to see the truth of him. Bedelia had to wonder then, “What is it that you see in him?”

The smile on Hannibal’s face turned terribly genuine for the briefest moment. “He’s nothing like me,” he said as his eyes moved away from her, the look on his face wistful. “Sometimes quite the opposite. We see the world in different way, yet he can assume my point of view.”

“And that you consider worthy your time and effort?”

“Yes.” Their eyes made contact again and his frankness was baffling.

A lot of what he said was baffling to hear – Bedelia couldn’t understand such simplicity in a man as complicated as Hannibal. Perhaps loneliness got the better of him and forced him into a mistake. Sometimes their nature was inescapable, and it came in many forms. When it would bare its teeth it was hard to win against it, as much as it hurt Bedelia to admit. She fell victim to it once, and only once.

The clock on her wall chimed at the top of the hour. “Wine,” she offered.

“Something pink if you have.”

She shared one more piece of advice, as much for her safety as anyone else’s. “You’ve treated widows and divorcees before, I assume. I have. I would suggest applying the knowledge gathered in those sessions to yourself.”

Hannibal chuckled after finishing his sip. “Do you think me susceptible to a loss of control?”

“I think,” she threaded carefully, “that this is new territory for you, and you should expect surprises.” She finished her glass and set it aside, gathering the nerve to steel her voice and look at Hannibal in the eyes. “If I notice any of those surprises on you, I will not allow you in my house and we will not be having sessions any longer.”

“How heartless,” he cooed with a note of humour. “Would you not consider helping me?”

“This is me helping you,” she answered immediately, “but my safety comes first.”

+++

He came home and immediately succumbed to his favourite, most relaxing, sport. There was meat in the basement with an expiry on its freshness, so he picked out a pair of kidneys and decided on a flambé.

Everything was perfectly arranged – the kidneys soaked in milk, the Brandenburg Concertos followed his every moved and slice, the shallots sizzled on the melted butter – until he went for his favourite knife. Like on cue the record switched from allegro to adagio as he remembered sticking that knife through the dining room door some weeks ago. There was nothing there now, no signs of struggle or fight. The door was repaired, the broken furniture replaced, the kitchen scrubbed clean, and the bruises they inflicted on each other long gone. Hannibal felt the scent of Will’s blood linger for a few days after, and then it was forever gone. Just like Will.

The knife came down a little too firmly, embedded now in the wooden cutting board, and Hannibal’s fingers were dangerously close to the blade. Attention slipped him again, and by now he was so used to it, he barely even registered it as something wrong, something he wasn’t accustomed to experiencing.

Perhaps there was some merit to Bedelia’s words.

When Will lay dormant in the hospital, Hannibal never once thought the condition anything other than temporary, and he knew exactly where Will was, had access unlimited. Now it was different. He was awake and angry of all things, a distress Hannibal understood in as much as he could understand his own distress when his inconsolable mate fell into a chemically induced coma in his own arms.

There was nothing unusual in Will’s need for some distance, some time to get to know himself better. But the expense of their time together bothered Hannibal like a hot cattle prod.

The shallots burned a little too much right under his nose and the Alpha threw them all in the trash with an audible growl. He started anew, threw a stick of butter in the now empty pan and went to clean the spare shallots.

Perhaps Will’s distance hinged on the vague non-promise Hannibal spat out in the heat of the moment, when plunging that knife through Will revealed itself to be the worst possible option. Could he ever fulfil it? He could keep Will on a diet of less egregious meat, but himself? The rest of his guests? Will wished for him not to hunt entirely, and he, the profiler of all people, should know what sort of damning request that was. That nature was entirely of Hannibal’s origin and one he indulged with great delight for more than just sustenance. Would he ever stoop that low for another? Could he? Was it even worth it when Will couldn’t even bother to tell him how long he’d be gone, how long he’d keep to himself, how long until Hannibal would see him again, touch him, smell—

The butter burned because, for some odd reason, he threw it into the pan before the shallows were even clean. The Alpha sighed and left the shallots where they were, turned off the stove, ignored the kidneys still soaking in milk. There was leftover dessert he served yesterday and he took it to his study where he almost never ate. But not even its decadence could fill the hole in his chest that kept on growing without his permission. He missed Will so much, the ache of it as strange as it was unbearable, so new to him it started to throw his entire life off balance.

But Hannibal knew where to search for his equilibrium and regain a sense of power over his life and feelings. He left the dessert half eaten in his study, left the kitchen in the disarray it was, didn’t even turn off the music. He just stopped to get his coat and keys and spin the rolodex as he picked out a random card.

+++

For a change, Franklyn was finally heard.

“Tell me about your friend,” Hannibal honed in on the topic before Franklyn could dare to mention their last session.

“Oh,” and the Beta seemed glad to hear it, “he’s great. We actually don’t have a lot of things in common but he’s my best friend. I’m not sure I’m his though. He cancels on a lot of things I invite him to. And his sense of humour is really impenetrable.”

Hannibal expected a diversion to the Beta’s all too common fear of rejection, but instead he seemed to have pulled Franklyn into a topic of odd interest.

“He’s been saying some alarmingly dark things, really morbid stuff, but as soon as he’d catch on to my distaste, he’d say he’s just kidding.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. A curious thing to mention, but it seemed to bother his patient greatly. “I googled psychopaths,” Franklyn continued, “and I found a checklist and he, oh boy, he scored pretty high.”

Hannibal smiled at his efforts. “Quizzes are a poor way to establish ones mental health.”

“I guess, but I still think there’s something wrong with the way he jokes about stuff, and he takes the weirdest interest in some things I mention offhandedly, like these sessions,” he mangled the tissue he had used at the beginning of their session when talk was aimed at himself and his crippling loneliness. “Could he be crazy?”

“Psychopaths are not crazy, Frankly. They’re fully aware of what they do and the consequences of those actions.”

“So you’re saying he could be a psychopath,” and the Beta dropped his tissue. He picked it up and tossed it to the trash when he noticed the aim of Hannibal’s eyes.

“I’m saying your friend might be jealous of the pedestal you put people besides him on,” and his patient got caught with surprise and revelation. “I’m not here to analyze your friend though, just your view of him. And if you feel disturbed by his presence, you should consider a gradual distance.”

Franklyn huffed, leaning his chubby frame back into the chair. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend. I don’t think I want to give this up. What if it is all in my head?” And that was likely, but just as Hannibal was about to agree with him, Franklyn spun a different tale. “What if he just needs some help? Maybe I should talk to him about it. That’s what friends do, they help each other through dark times, right?”

And as a rare treat, his reinvigorated patient left almost five minutes early and without a fuss, granting him a little extra time before his five o’clock appointment. The thought of it made Hannibal restless, acutely aware of Bedelia’s words and how right they could be.

Across him that afternoon sat an man that had the mark of his Alpha removed surgically, that had a life now elsewhere, a new mate that loved him and he her just the same, and yet—

“I can’t get him out of my head,” he said though gritted teeth, angered in ways Omegas rarely allowed to be seen. “I think of him when she’s not around and I can’t control it. I can’t—”

He looked around Hannibal’s office, up and towards the high ceiling as far as his eyes could reach, just to stop the grief from spilling through them. “I don’t know what else to do. There’s not a trace of his mark on my shoulder but I still seek it out.”

The man looked for advice no one could give him, so Hannibal gave him the truth. “Love, or a bond, is more than just the mark it leaves behind.”

The Omega didn’t take it kindly. “We were terrible for each other,” he spat out, rage bubbling on the surface, the kind he couldn’t bear to show around his new mate. “So different and incompatible. I don’t even know how we survived that long together, or raised a child. I hate him,” he hissed between his teeth, nails digging into the leather of the armrest.

As much as it served the Administration to fit everyone into boxes of black, white, and gray, the reality was different. Even Omegas needed someone to calm them; even Alphas could fit a caretaking role. “No you don’t,” Hannibal spoke softly and got up to hand the man a box of tissues.

“I want to hate him,” his voice wound down to a tired whisper. “I would make everything so much easier.”

“It wouldn’t,” Hannibal was careful to keep his tone mellow and soothing. “Hate is awfully close to love; it requires a great deal of investment and care towards its target. When apathy is all you feel at the sound of his name, that is when you’ll know you are free.”

And the Omega nodded, a trace of worry in his eyes as an old instinct had him rub his neck for a brief second.

The session left Hannibal almost as exhausted as his patient. Everything he told to the Omega he heard reflect back at himself, an attempt at comfort coming in the guise of his own voice, but all it did was remind him Will was somewhere out there, far from him. Did distance ail him, or was there apathy? How hated was the mark left on his shoulder?

+++

There was blood between his nails. Another night of shapeless nightmares kept kicking him awake, seeking something other in his bed, something that was never there. Frustration brought him to his feet and into the bathroom, anger at all the nights of wasted sleep, anger at the who and the what and himself. His nails dug into the skin of his shoulder, pain eking through old welts and indentations that now bled again. But he gave up on hurting himself senselessly. It wouldn’t help because he knew, Will knew their bond didn’t exist in a scar and there was no scalpel to cut all that love out of him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Alana watched the dogs gnaw on their toys, content and peaceful as she dropped them off after a short babysit. Significantly shorter than the first one, but having them in her house again was a rare pleasure she didn’t expect to miss as much. They had good manners, but around Will they showed exemplary obedience. The pack never once doubted or falter at his lack of distinct smell, while Alana had to admit it always caught her off guard. She tried not to have it show.

“How was the family visit?”

“Revelatory,” was the only answer she got before Will jumped her wish to socialise and said, “I’ve been give an ultimate. I need to find a therapist that would, eventually, give me a psychological evaluation.”

She thought for a moment, the idea of offering help appealing, but if she didn’t trust herself with Will before, she trusted herself even less now. As a friend she had too many questions, too many ideas about who Will was and what he could be now to allow herself that temptations. His mind still held a great deal for interest for too many people, herself included.

“Anyone in mind,” she asked because she did have a person in mind.

“I could do with a recommendation. Someone safe—,” he cut himself off at that strange prerequisite. “Someone you trust is good.”

Safe was an odd choice of words for a therapist. Which one wasn’t that he had to ask for such a specific criteria? Alana couldn’t imagine, but she decided against bluntly stating the obvious choice. Will probably wouldn’t be so receptive towards her proposition, perhaps too self conscious of the way he pulled wool over everyone’s eyes, Dr. Lecter’s specifically.

“I’ll think about it, and you should think about dinner. Tonight.” The invitation came off a little sudden and it reflected in Will’s curious expression. “Some friendly bonding,” she cleared. “You’ve been very avoidant since you left the hospital and I’ve tolerated it for as long as I can.”

“Okay,” he smiled and shrugged, not overly preoccupied by the idea, “but why not drinks in a bar then?”

“I prefer Hannibal’s cuisine, don’t you?”

“That’s where you want to have dinner,” and the way his voice spiked so suddenly caught her off guard, made her pay attention to the way he reeled back, tried to brush off his initial reaction. Something wasn’t right here, something she could only assume again was self consciousness, but the minute details of his reaction made her question even that.

“We,” she corrected, “we want you to come to dinner. Both of us. He’s been through a lot with you. I think you owe him as much.”

Will just gave a quick nod and staggering silence stretched between them as he took a long sip of coffee before confirming his attendance with actual words.

The surprise was also Hannibal’s, though he took the news with more delight.

“Was he easy to convince?”

The Omega gave it a thought. “Not quite. He showed some reservation to the idea. Mostly towards you.” Hannibal lifted his head from the paperwork on his desk, his brows pulled tight and questioning. “I don’t think he’s very proud of what he’s done under your care,” and to that she added, “I also think he’s having trouble with the outside world because of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I knew what he was before, but now I stand in his presence confused,” her shoulders slinked. “He doesn’t have a distinct scent, but that’s probably not even half the trouble of rediscovering yourself.” Hannibal kept looking at her with confusion and she had to asked, “Did you not notice his lack of scent?”

“Ah, of course,” he lied, “it’s just been a while since I’ve last seen him. I must have put it off my mind.”

Last he’d seen Will was weeks and weeks ago on a public get together, and not once had he noticed anything wrong, not even when he had him against the wall with a kiss. What had changed since then he could only wonder. How much struggle was there to be had and all alone to bear it? How much more did he have to guess and wonder about the state of Will’s life?

Alana was talking again, something about tonight’s dinner, but Hannibal could barely listen and the pencil snapped silently in his hand. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be difficult, for either.

+++

There was a moment of valiant effort where Will resisted putting on his best suit for the occasion. In fact, he dressed as he would for work. He even looked the same – tired and shabby like it was six in the morning not six in the evening. For that he spent a little longer in front of the mirror, not enough to warrant compliments, though Hannibal’s eyes rarely left him as soon as he stepped into the house.

“May I take your coat?”

Will took his coat off and handed it to him, barely sparing the Alpha a glance, and proceeded to the dining room where Alana waited. He hoped to keep up appearances, to stick with his cold act, lest he gave up his weakness to the man who barely had any.

“Tell us,” and it was one of the first questions Alana asked when their meals were served, “how is it being an Alpha now?”

It was a question of friendly curiosity and Will couldn’t hold it against her – he was slowly getting used to the idea of hearing it everywhere, if not from people’s mouth than in their eyes. But answering it next to the man who put him through it was an uncomfortable situation, because Will had the distinct feeling failure wouldn’t sit well with The Ripper. He looked down at his dish, roasted pork tenderloin, and wondered if pork was going to be what he’d taste.

“I have to admit,” Will kept his eyes on the dish, grabbed the fork and knife, “I feel like nothing’s changed at all.” He cut off a tiny piece of meat and before the fork even reached his mouth, Will could see himself spiting it back out and scrambling for half baked excuses.

“I told you as much, didn’t I?” Hannibal’s voice drew his eyes away from the plate just as the taste was starting to register in his newly developed palate. “Biology can change, but the man will not,” he spoke to Alana with a pinch of smugness. And just as Will swallowed the piece of delicious pork in his mouth, the Alpha turned to him with a gleam in his eyes and said, “You may have had instinct that perplexed you as a Beta, but now they will find meaning, and that is the only significant way in which you may expect change.”

Will knew exactly what he was talking about, and the flooding memories of blood on his hands had him reaching for the wine glass.

Of course. That was the why. That and curiosity. As appalling as it felt, there was some bitter satisfaction mixing in Will’s well of emotion, the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t played with for being a subpar choice of mate. If anything, they were a worse match now than before, and Hannibal didn’t even seem to care.

“Certainly,” Alana agreed, “as well as some noticeable improvements.” She aimed her fork at Will across the table. “You’ve lost your glasses. You don’t sneeze around me anymore,” and that she noted with a broad smile. “How’s the nose? I know one too many Alphas who have trouble using public restrooms,” and a pointed glare was aimed at Hannibal.

Will finished his wine in one go and returned her half a smile. His repulsion had been toned down to something very manageable and Will supposed it could be one of the very few things he was allowed to feel grateful about.

“I think I’ve been spared such drastic changes,” he said and sniffed the bottom of his empty glass for show. It smelled much like grapes with a hint of roses and nothing else.

Their talk moved away from his hospitalisation and Alana led most of it, filling in the blanks left with his long sleep. She started with the girl, Abigail, who woke up from a coma of her own a few months before him. Will had to admit some guilt in forgetting her amidst the chaos of his life. She continued on about cold cases and strange clues Jack left on the backburner for reasons unexplained. At the mention of the copycat murder spree stopping, Will exchanged brief looks with the man at the head of the table. Another thing, at least, to be grateful about. She also touched on all the visits he regularly had, unsurprisingly omitting Hannibal, and mentioned the hospital’s frustration with trying to contact his next of kin.

“Legally speaking,” Alana seemed to be reaching some conclusions as she licked the last traces of her chocolate semifreddo from the spoon, “Hannibal is still your psychiatrist. Did you know that?”

The man in question was still a room away making coffee and Will allowed shock to paint his face again. “You can’t be serious.”

“You will not find many Alpha psychiatrists,” she brought her voice to a whisper. “He can help you in ways few can in your situation. He would not be lenient, but he would be fair and considerate.”

“I can’t—” and Will bit hit tongue before he’d say something regretful. He dropped his spoon, unable to finish the desert, leaned back in his chair and turned his head away from Alana and her sharp blue gaze.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice now a soothing whisper, “he doesn’t hold it against you. In fact, he’d love to get a chance to actually help you.”

She didn’t understand why that seemed to upset Will to the point of excusing himself from the table, but she considered her part done. The rest was in Hannibal’s court.

When he came to serve the coffee, he found the dining room half empty and the Omega readying herself to leave. “What did I miss,” he glanced at Will’s empty chair and half finished dessert.

“He’s been given an ultimatum,” Alana said as she pulled her coat on. “Find a therapist or else, well, you know. I suggested he go back to you.”

“And he didn’t take it quite well,” Hannibal placed the tray of coffee down, unsurprised by the reaction. He didn’t expect Will to still be in the house and it painted his face morose, a slippery uncontrollable feeling Alana caught the sight of immediately.

“I'm not entirely certain I know why he’s being so difficult with you, but it’s okay. I get it,” and she grabbed his upper arm in a tight reassuring grip. “I’m not blind. I see what’s happening here.”

Hannibal steeled his face until she spoke what was on her mind. She did spend the dinner observing them, and while he couldn’t pinpoint a moment where some epiphany could come over her, he was aware of his eyes and where they’d been most of the night. Alana couldn’t know just from that, could she? Were she to find out of their rather unethically established bond, her reaction would be a lot more wrathful, and he was right.

“You feel guilt,” she said and of course he was right. “You feel responsible for what you let happen under your nose and I get it. I’d feel the same. But now you can actually help him.” She finished buttoning up her coat and took a sip of her coffee before heading towards the door. “Iron it out. Get him back in your chair. Don’t let the Administration handle it.”

Alana may have been utterly wrong about the grand scheme of thing, but her involvement was certainly a benevolent meddling.

Will walked into the dining room just in time to see her leave, catch the last few words she had for Hannibal, and he stared off into the empty hallway unwilling to acknowledge the beaming smile behind him.

“She’s right, you know,” Hannibal spoke up when the tension of silence became too much, when Will’s head turned towards him half way and his feet instinctively took him a stepped back. “If the Administration gets their hands on you, they will find the red on your ledger and drill you with questions until you tell them what you can’t even admit yourself.”

That got Will’s attention and halted his departure, but it did nothing to clear the unease coming off him in waves. It called to Hannibal, beckoned him to close the long distance between them, but he’d be amiss to listen to his protective instincts when the source of Will’s unease was himself.

“It would be miraculous if you left with only a prescription,” the Alpha continued, offering information that would win him no favours, “and not a visit to a more sinister hospital. The same could be said for anyone else who would have you seated for a psychological evaluation, kindness notwithstanding.”

Will frowned. “Are you threatening me?”

“No, Will, I’m trying to help you,” he softened his voice. “You are hiding my secrets, so allow me to hide yours.”

A moment of contemplation passed and Will took a step closer instead of further away. “How did you pass your first time,” he asked.

Will knew him so well, could read into him with a precision that should frighten, but instead it brought a broad smile across Hannibal’s lips. There was a quick answer he could give Will, but the Alpha wanted to keep him around for as long as the other would let him. He picked up their cups of coffee by the saucers and closed the distance only to offer Will his.

“Come,” the Alpha moved away and towards the stairs as soon as Will took his coffee. “I’d like to show you.”

There was no need for Hannibal to expose himself like this, other than he wanted to. For Will, he wanted to.

The study was on the second floor and decorated much like his office, with tall book shelves covering most of the walls. From one of the shelves Hannibal pulled and old looking album, worn out by time and use, and took a seat on the settee with room enough for just one more to join. It was curiosity that pulled Will closer, the black and white images that promised to tell something personal. He observed from afar until Hannibal stopped on a page, his finger tapping an old photo of a man in his forties. Will sat beside him without a thought, curious to have a better look at the man, and left his coffee to cool on the small table in front of their feet.

“You might recall that some thirty years ago, evaluating Alphas was done by specialists,” Hannibal said as he relaxed back into the settee and laid his free arm across the satin backrest. “My uncle Robert was one of those specialists. Back in Europe we had a particular nickname for them. I’m not sure if it made it across the pond.”

“The Inquisition,” Will offered some of his street knowledge, words heard as a youngster from generations much older than him.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Hannibal smiled and turned the page where the picture of his much younger self stood by his uncle, hunting rifles in their hands. “They weren’t on a good name and many young Alphas lived in fear of their examination. The stern abidance to the rulebook varied from country to country, and in ours if you were very lucky you’d just go back to your life. If you were just lucky, you’d be drafted. And if you were unlucky, well...”

Hannibal didn’t need to finish his words for Will to understand. The psych wards got a new coat of paint, the staff smiled more often, the medication got prettier labels, but underneath nothing much changed. And Will was more certain than he’d ever been that by the time the Alpha sitting next to him had reached the age for evaluation, he’d been guilty of more than just thoughts.

“My uncle was quite fond of me, though, and he hoped witnessing a few sessions would assuage my played up fears and prove beneficial. And it was,” Hannibal grinned as he eyed his uncle’s photo, “in ways he didn’t intend it to be.”

Will’s eyes were on him now, intently listening, and Hannibal let his arm slip off the backrest, gently landing around the younger Alpha with no sign of protest.

“I took from those experiences the names of drugs used, the nature and logistics behind the questions, the behaviour presented in the examiner and the examinee. Many details that helped me craft the image of someone their inquisitive ways would not label as... out of the norm,” and with that he turned the page again with more family photographs.

Will’s eyes fell back on the album, unconsciously resting more of his weight against the Alpha beside him. The arm around him shifted a little, thumb drawing circles over his shoulder. There was a weight to his eyelids that he ignored, watching rather all the different faces appearing in the photographs, the permission feeling like a rare privilege. One stuck out to him, where a young Hannibal posed with a woman whose sense of grace transcended the world of faded photographs. “Who’s that?”

“My aunt,” and there was some weight behind those words, but also a smile of sombre quality. Will noticed and Hannibal rewarded his attention. “We had some convoluted history,” the Alpha admitted with a wry smile as Will took the confession with a dose of humour.

“Bold for a kid,” he said through a chuckle.

“I was eighteen in that photograph.”

“Still a kid.”

With mention of kids, the next page brought just that in the form of a bright smiling girl, the traces of Hannibal’s lineage all too obvious on her childlike face. But if there were burdens in his voice before, that was even more obvious now with the gap of silence that filled the small space between them.

“My sister,” he said, and Will could measure out the weight of each syllable hanging in the air, and the sudden weight of the arm around him.

Words were hampered by hesitance and difficulty, the subject clearly a damning thing. Will didn’t need answers spelled out to him because he felt it, deep in his core he felt just how much this smiling face meant to Hannibal and how much its absence tormented him. An odd mix of urges and instincts came over Will and he wanted to reach out with damningly sweet words on the tip of his tongue.

“You don’t have to say anything,” the hand slipped down his back as Will got up from the seat before their closeness would drive him to do something stupid and affectionate beyond his control.

Will rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to wake from this stupor he fell prey to. “I should leave.”

“If you’re too tired,” Hannibal’s voice was quick to settle back to its smooth self, “I’ve got guest rooms for you to use.”

He must have known it was a futile suggestion because there was no life or hope put in those words. And yet Will thought them through in the span of a second, saw himself accepting the offer and spending the night, kicking awake at some dead hour and seeking someone who wasn’t there in his room but a few doors down the hall, and his room would be open and Will would go to him and–

Will picked his cup of coffee up and quickly gulped down all the bitterness he could before deeming his stay too long. “Thanks for this,” he gestured vaguely at his host and the office. “It was nice. I’ll see myself out.”

The weight of that arm around his shoulders followed Will out the door and to the car. It was still there when he made a stop at the liquor store, still there when he drank his third glass, and still there when he threw it against the wall.

The dogs were quiet and drawn back, unfamiliar with this brad of anguish plaguing their master.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Abigail is awake and I still don't know if I made a mistake writing that line in. I hope I don't get tempted to retcon it, oops 8D...  
> I doubt she'll be in this story though, because I'd like to keep it purely about them getting back together (spoiler alert?) and one soap opera drama plot is enough for this story tbh.  
>  ~~red on your ledger, hahaha, it's such a great line ok? I couldn't help it~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack suspects. A case emerges. An invitation is sent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean I'm a week late? You're imagining things. Why, just last week you read chapter 3. Mhm. Would I lie to you? No, ofc not. Everything's Fine™!

Not everyone stared or cared or noticed, but it only took one person with a skeevy look in their eyes to ruin a day. Will was mostly met with confusion, people on the verge of asking him what he was but backing down in the last second to save their decency. He saw it yesterday in the cashier when she handed him the bottle of whiskey, a young Omega that almost had the courage to wonder out loud, and he saw it again barely eight hours later in a fleeting hare of a moment before Jack Crawford greeted him.

“A little early for a visit,” Will said but stepped back to let the man. He came with takeout coffee and Will was never more glad to see it.

“You had fun last night,” the Alpha’s grin was crooked and Will had to assume the pungent smell of alcohol wasn’t just stuck in his nose.

“I may have had a few.” More than a few. He was still sobering up, mouth dry as a desert, and coffee should have been the last thing in his hands but he downed half a cup on the spot. “What brings you here,” and Will crashed a little unceremoniously down in his chair.

Jack followed, sitting down with a lot more grace, and took his hat off. “A social visit,” he said as his eyes continued to wonder about Will’s house. He must have half-expected to find a mess but there wasn’t one, save for a spot on the wall that seemed to have been scrubbed at a little too harshly, paint faded slightly.

“On a work day?”

“Well,” Jack chuckled, “I do have something you could have fun with.”

“Didn’t you get the memo? I can’t work yet.”

“Off the record. I’d pay you. I hear the fine you got was—”

“It’s covered,” Will said and though he didn’t know or care for the size of Hannibal’s fortune, he had a feeling the fine was paid for the moment Will passed it into his hands. “Don’t worry about it.”

Will sat up with more decency and rubbed his fingers just above the bridge of his nose where all the pain of last night’s drinks was accumulating. Jack’s unimaginative lie didn’t even bother him. Truth be told, the thought of sinking his teeth into some work felt almost like a blessing, a way to get his mid off one horrible thing to another. An even trade. He did ask for it as soon as he left the hospital. A poor way of coping but he wanted to scrape the rust off his mind and use it for something good.

 “Let’s see what you got,” Will’s hand reached out.

“Didn’t bring it with me,” and Will found that most surprising as his arm just dropped. “Didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

A brief laugh left him as he considered Jack might not be lying. “So this is really a social visit,” he said as both his brows almost reached the hairline. That was something he expected and got from Alana, but Jack didn’t seem like he belonged in that category of friends.

If a boss could even be a friend.

“I’d say you need one.” The Alpha’s eyes went straight to the half empty bottle of whiskey still out on the table, and back to Will. He didn’t need to excuse himself, but before he could even tell his boss to keep out of it, Jack spoke again and there was an odd worrisome tone to his words. “I’ve been sitting on what you told me for six months, twisting and turning it over in my head. I want to talk to you about it.”

“About what?” Will brows knit together, his sluggish brain trying to unravel Jack’s words.

“Do you feel safe?”

 “Odd question, Jack,” Will answered carefully, the hint of an idea scratching his mind. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“How much do you remember of those weeks before you got hospitalized?”

“All very fuzzy to be honest,” Will said, his eyes drawn back to the cup in his hands, thinking through the intended dishonesties. “I remember the kidnapping a little clearer, but everything around it is a blur. Details lost in a fog.”

“Do you remember telling me you were stalked by serial killers? More than the one who got to you.” Will gave him a baffled look. “You weren’t well when you shared that. I don’t suppose you remember, but I couldn’t forget it.” And Will still looked at him with utter confusion, unable to connect to those words. “I believe a lot more than stalking was done to you.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Will said after a moment of silence, his face still lacking any evident recollection. But Jack saw bits of it, smelled it on him; the clamp around his throat as he said those words, the early notes of distress in the air, the heartbeat just a skip too fast.

Jack Crawford sat on those ideas for long months, debating them back and forth between himself, trying to tie all the loose ends together, and unable to ignore how much Will’s rambling made sense the more he dwelled on it. Ideas formed in his head that he couldn’t explain or rationalize, but they felt disturbingly right, and Jack didn’t know which he hated more – that Will’s memories and body were tempered with, or that he sat there silent, threatened, unable to speak.

“I just want you to know,” and Jack spoke with his most reassuring voice, completely forgetting he was talking now to one of his kind. Most would find it condescending, provocative even, but Will didn’t strike him so emotionally stunted, not after living as a Beta most his life. “You can come to me about anything. Anything at all.”

And there was another unmistakable rock sliding down Will’s throat as he swallowed, only to answer with the most nonchalant ‘okay’ that matched his equally calm expression.

Jack look at his watch and got up. “I’ll send you the files tomorrow. You sure you want to get into that?”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine,” Will got up after him to see him out, his feet a little wobbly. “I’m not doing much these days. Could use a distraction.”

Will could only truly breathe again when he heard the car drive away. He poured himself a glass of water and leaned on the sink, hands shaking as he drank. Someone being this close to the truth turned out to be more frightening than liberating. There was a small part in him that rejoiced, that made him consider the offer. But taking it would come with no small price and Will closed his eyes, used all the foreknowledge he had in him to paint that world in the vivid landscape of his mind.

With the truth out, Jack would be livid but contained. Evidence dictated arrests and there was none to be found, other than the words of a man who would not hold credibility in the eyes of the court. But that same man held the solution to their lack of proof. Will would fit too well the role of a mole, a deceiver, and that’s how he’d walk back into Hannibal’s life, tested at every step to break oaths until he wasn’t sure which. Hannibal would either serve him what he wanted on a platter or hold off until the very end, but the end would always be doused in red. This time the butcher’s blade would not miss and Will could barely see a scenario where he’d live to regret sending his Alpha to a fate worse than death.

 _His_ Alpha.

Mist covered his eyes when he opened them. When did doing the right thing become so painful?

He had to find another way.

***

Hannibal had to find another way.

Sitting on a bench in a deserted park past midnight was not how he preferred or enjoyed spending his evenings. The world was off-kilter again and everything he got his hands on turned dull. All the things he loved pouring his heart into felt unfulfilling and meaningless, empty of the joy he’d always find in them. Work, of all things, was what held him in balance, occupied him enough so his thoughts didn’t stray to a little white house in Wolf Trap. But in the vast emptiness of his house, all those thoughts bounced off the walls and kept him on edge of something he couldn’t explain, a feeling in his chest he couldn’t pin down and weed out.

He broke a dish that evening, not out of rage but restlessness. That’s when he took a walk that led him out into the darkness, but not to hunt, no, no will even for that. Just to be, exist, breathe and clear his mind of dangerous thoughts where driving down to Wolf Trap and dragging Will out of his house, willing or not, felt like a good idea.

It wasn’t, it wouldn’t be; just the perfect recipe to drive Will even further away than he was now. Reason still held dominion in Hannibal’s mind but he could feel some invisible seems giving way to something dangerous.

He left the park with eyes on him he never noticed, and came home eager to write a letter.

***

The knock on his door came a little past noon. “I hear there’s a guy around here who likes solving dead end cases free of charge.”

Beverly didn’t waste a second more on social niceties. When the screen door opened, she pulled Will in a tight hug. An easy laugh left him with that delightful gesture but he went a little rigid when he noticed her take in a deep breath through her nose.

“That’s a nifty superpower,” she said when she pulled away, a bright grin full of teeth on her face. “If you’re quiet enough, you could actually sneak up on people with their back turned.”

Will chuckled dismissively, shaking his head. “Not what I’d call it.”

“Always look on the bright side.” She turned over a file full of papers. “Your homework.”

Technically she didn’t have the time to come in for a cup of coffee, she wasn’t even on a break. Beverly caught the intern who was supposed to make the deliver and told him to take a long lunch instead. Work kept her so busy she only found time to sleep and eat, and the lack of time for social visits bothered her. Will’s lack of keeping in touch bothered her as well but she could somewhat understand that. She only caught a whiff of his scent up-close and personal. It must have been annoying, the constant questions and odd looks.

“Changes in management,” was her explanation for the additional workload. “It’s been a wild few week. Don’t worry about Jack though,” she said as he eyes found a clock on his wall, acutely aware of the time ticking away. “He’ll still be around. When are you coming back?”

His smile turned sour and that was answer enough.

Beverly didn’t need to think hard to connect the dots. His fear was once hers. “A word of advice, one Alpha to another,” she gripped his shoulder. “Don’t rush your evaluation. No matter what.”

No one yet told him what that was actually about and all he ever heard and saw were warnings and panicked looks. Will thought again of Hannibal and his offer, his promise, and it seemed more likely by the day that he would take it. The clock ticked for him as well. He had to have a name for his next doctor’s appointment that was just around the corner.

“And don’t be a stranger,” Beverly said before leaving.

Will was ever glad to get some distraction in his day. The dogs could keep him busy but only if he’d manufacture a need for it beyond their actual needs. They were a fairly self sufficient pack, never strayed too far or behaved too wildly, unless mud puddles were involved. That was beyond any dog and their training. When his pack grew tired of him he’d fish, and the hours lost with water up to his knees was the most peaceful he’d ever felt. When he wasn’t finishing, he’d clean fish, and after that he’d cook, and at that point it became a regular struggle not to think of Hannibal Lecter.

The good and the ugly of him.

Reading helped to quiet the mind but sleeping always came with a difficulty. And so his days would mostly go, in grinding circles he could barely stomach anymore.

But today, finally, he had something of worth to sink his teeth in. Will was surprised with his fervour, with how much joy he felt at the thought of cracking into someone’s headspace again. It was a new experience to love that aspect of his job. Did he miss it so, or was the rest of his life such entropy that staring at grisly photos felt like a pleasant pastime? He couldn’t tell, but he welcomed the change.  

Will let the dogs out of the house to have their fun and took his position on the porch with the case files in his lap. And true to the nature of those files, the first thing he laid eyes on were photos of the victims.

Two bodies were dragged out of the Chesapeake Bay with enough distance and time between them to suggest two different cases, yet circumstances formed a thin connective tissue.

Victims were homeless, an Omega and a Beta, no IDs – people no one would miss or look for. Blunt force trauma was the cause of death in both cases, with post mortem mutilation. Just that was enough to convince Will it wasn’t a Ripper case, and a boulder of worry slid right off his chest.

This killer wasn’t interested in torture, just the product, the canvas of his work. The more recent victim had their throat exposed, skin fully removed on the front side. Anything fatty and non-muscular was removed from the throat opening and only their vocal cords remained exposed, whitened with chemicals and odd traces of resin and oil clinging to them. The jaw was broken and insides damaged with what seemed as a thick object being forced down their throat. The one other connective tissue between the victims, other than the cause of death, was their missing gut. The older victim had no throat mutilation. It was a routine, an old hat, unlike the fresher victim which was clearly an experiment, and attempt to branch out.

Will set aside the papers and lifted his feet on the fence. He read more than enough to get a simple picture in his mind of a practice run before a big game, a sequence of trials and errors preformed by an expert trying out a new idea. This wasn’t a first kill nor was it the last, though Will had doubt the other bodies would be found with as much luck. That’s what this was – luck and currents and bad weather that prematurely exposed glimpses of someone before their grand opening. This may not have been The Ripper but it still felt like someone with an ego equally large, someone searching for an audience when the time to shine was right.

Whatever this killer tried to create, Will couldn’t begin to form yet but the answer he felt was hidden in the chemicals, the resin, the oil. Rust chipped away as cogs turned but nothing came to mind, so Will left the dogs to their fun and plunged himself with work behind a computer.

It was almost too effortless to step back into these mindsets, too comfortable. Slipping into this killer’s shoes came easy and went easy; a change Will didn’t question too much, not when it went in his favour. If this had to be the one gift he got from his change then he would gladly accept it.

It was late when he was done staring at the monitor, and the picture in his mind was still only half finished. He could almost hear the music when the emptiness in his belly rumbled out loud. The dogs always had something good to eat but his fridge situation was not as lucky unless fish was involved, and fish was always involved.

Tonight he had a taste for meat. 

Will stepped on his porch to have the cool crisp evening air clear his head. Ordering in sounded a lot more appealing than grocery shopping, and that was when he noticed the handle of his mailbox sticking up. It wasn’t a bill, nor was it anything promotional. The envelope was signed with cursive letters, stamped, and the stationary in it didn’t lack any class either. He read the hand written letter with his jaw half open, unsure how to take this gesture that was a lot more charming than he’d care to admit.

Will debated a full minute over the phone, should he or shouldn’t he, with a finger hovering on the speed dial and he had to wonder why it was still programmed there.

It took three rings for the culprit to answer with a very pleased hello, and right there at the sound of his voice, at the skip of his heart, Will knew he made the right choice to call.

“It’s the 21st century,” he didn’t bother with introductions, “and snail mail is how you send out invitations?”

There was a brief silence followed by a breezy laugh that sent involuntary shivers down Will’s spine. “A call would have put you on the spot and broken some rules. Letters are much easier to disregard. But seeing as you’ve called, am I right to assume you’re considering?”

Will was quiet as he soaked in the cadence of Hannibal’s voice, so far away yet now seemingly as close to his ear. “Only considering,” he said as he gave another look to the letter. “This is nothing I’m interested in.”

“I know,” the tone was apologetic. “I’ve sent it out because I’ve had it on good word that you’re a little too house bound these days.”

“You’re not wrong,” Will admitted with little shame. He didn’t spend as much time locked in his house as the words would suggest, but he did spend it alone and on his property, lacking much incentive to go anywhere and expose himself to crowds. And that’s where this invitation would lead him, to a crowd.

Perhaps his Alpha felt it, the tethering hesitance, the rejection just sitting on the tip of his tongue, the unwillingness to be pitied. “Then do me this favour,” Hannibal’s too eager voice came from the other end when Will was quiet for a little too long. “Make my evening more pleasant.”

Will huffed a laugh and sat down, throwing the letter aside. A warm feeling filled his chest and it drew out a smile on his face that he hoped wasn’t too obvious in his words. “I’ll be poor company for such an event, you know.”

“I’d beg to differ,” Hannibal said, “all I ask is that you don’t come wearing a pair of jeans.”

The time and date were set, and Will was quick to refuse the offer of a ride. Mostly, because a compromise was set. Hannibal shared a few dress code pointers, as well as the evening’s program which Will still wasn’t interested in, but he allowed it, the long and flowery speech that had him sinking in his armchair. The hair on his arms bristled and his eyelids dropped heavier and heavier with each blink.

“Are you even listening,” Hannibal asked with amusement apparent in his voice and all Will could do was sigh a smile.

He just wanted him to talk more but at that point it was getting a little silly and a little desperate. What they had set up wasn’t a date, that much was obvious. Even under less complicated circumstances, dating a former patient would be frowned upon. Dating a current patient even worse. Dating another Alpha, well, that Will couldn’t even imagine what it would do to Hannibal’s reputation.

If Will was even that. He was something alright, something unwillingly stuck in between two scales where one didn’t want him and the other couldn’t keep him.

“Good bye, Dr. Lecter,” he said, eyes now firmly closed and shooing away his issues. Sleep was hard to find and when it came knocking, Will was ready to accept this rare gift that eluding him in the night. “Thank you for the invitation.”

With eyes closed, the whispering voice in his ear almost became a solid presence in the room with him. “Sleep well,” it said and how did the voice know if it wasn’t right there with him? Will doesn’t quite remember the moment he dozed off, but he remembered waking with a cramp in his neck and a dog in his lap licking at his chin, begging to be let out for an evening run.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A killer decides to step into the spotlight. An invitation gets answered. The two try to have a Good Time™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something happened and my mojo just left the building. Gone. Didn't even leave a note. I'm still looking for it, but a lack of updates is stressing me out more than the lack of mojo. I hope releasing smaller chapters might help me find it again. Bear with me 8D

 

Vacant eyes started at the ceiling, mouth gaping wide and toothless as the neck of a violin stuck out from it for purposes too twisted to put in words. Jack stood on the podium of the concert hall, eyes locked on the victim as the forensic team buzzed around him.

The Alpha didn’t miss the glaring similarities and he reached for his phone to make a call when no one looked.

“Did you have a look at the files,” he asked quietly, followed by, “there’s someone else I’d like you to see.”

Will came with the sort of haste that implied he passed one too many red lights, but that was good for Jack. There was only so much time he could buy before the scene would be disassembled. Katz, Price, and Zeller were there to assist the delay and his status could only buy him so much silence. They used back alley entrances to get Will into the building with as little eyes on him as possible, like they were smuggling a criminal and not just a man without a licence. But a man without a licence was enough to bury Jack in a pile of shit. Were this anyone else, the Alpha wouldn’t bother, but Will gave results, and Jack felt the vacuum of skill left with his absence.

“Well,” Jack allowed him to walk up to the victim, but could do little to give him the privacy he was accustomed to. “What do you think?”

Most of this picture Will had already seen in his mind, but now it stood before him a completed symphony. The neck of a violin jammed down a man’s throat, mouth agape with removed teeth, and his own vocal cords turned to strings that could produce a melody. The haunting sound already thrummed quietly in halls of his mind, but standing before it, the instrument, Will could almost hear it. The temptation to grab the bow and pull it across the vocal cords lived in him. What ghoulish noise would they make? If he were allowed solitude, Will was certain he’d indulge the curiosity.

“That’s the one,” he said with arms crossed, eyeing the body up and down with spectacular ease. “Out of training and into the field.”

The guts weren’t missing though, but Will became a little more aware of their use as ideas dashed across the calm surface of his thoughts. Strings thrummed again, echoing behind his eyes as they pored over the scene.

“Is it The Ripper,” Jack asked.

“No,” and a sigh left his boss that was a mix of relief and disappointment. The reaction made Will consider his words, the glint of another idea forming. “Not a new player either,” he continued, “but an old one who desired a spot in the limelight.”

Jack filled him in on the details of the victim, a certain Douglas Wilson, trombone player from the Baltimore Metropolitan Orchestra, killed just two days after his last performance in that very same theatre hall.

Will chuckled. “Had to open him up to get a good sound out of him,” and he caught himself right at the end, when all the eyes in the room turned to him, when Beverly across the podium gave him the world’s biggest side eye while dusting for prints.

The amusement died on his face and he swallowed a rock as he took a step backwards and away from the victim. What was he thinking and say with such casual candour? Where did this come from—no, he knew that. Such insensitive words to let slip, but Will knew why he said them, and Will turned to look at Jack who eyed him with grievous judgement.

“It’s the motive behind the kill,” Will offered his excuse and it sounded a lot better in his head, like something he could stand behind and not feel a pang of guilt. And yet he did. “I doubt our killer found him very good. Maybe even a hindrance to the orchestra. A man of high musical taste and talent, this killer would consider it a favour to them.”

The Alpha nodded, his eyes still a little wary and set on Will without a blink in them. Will shifted the weight from one foot to another and the old instinct to back away a little begged him to move. So little changed, indeed.

“It’s easier for you to look, isn’t it,” Jack noted with a cool tone as if he heard his thoughts and had a need to disprove them.

“Ah,” Will turned away and looked back at the corpse, “maybe just a little.”

“No,” Jack said firmly and did not hide the trace of a command in his voice. “Not a little.”

***

It was exactly two minutes after the clock hit seven when a jarringly ugly car parked into Hannibal’s driveway. The minor time discrepancy was barely an issue for the Alpha who only moments ago freighted Will might not show up at all. In fact, he was certain the thought crossed Will’s mind, just to be cruel and punishing.

And yet there he stood, leaning against the hood of his car, waiting for Hannibal who was now the one running late.

Hannibal chose to skip formal greetings as he was sure Will would skip his. Instead he immediately quipped the first thing that drew his attention. “Did you rent a tux,” he asked, eyes drawn along the length of Will’s frame. There seemed to have been effort put beneath that dark gray coat. The dress shoes and dark trousers told him as much.

But perhaps tux was too hopeful of a guess and Will scoffed at the sound of it. “Old suit. Figured I should dust it out for what sounded like a black tie event. Or blue, in my case.”

Hannibal stopped half way down the stone steps that lead from his doorway, his eyebrow raised in scrutiny, and Will looked like he was about to bite his tongue. Instead he rolled his eyes and said, “It’s dark enough, don’t worry.”

Hannibal wasn’t bothered so much as he seized little moments when he saw them presented at his feet. Quickly and without words he threw his car keys at Will who scrambled with surprise to catch them.

“Start the car, if you would,” Hannibal said and turned back to the house.

Another five minutes flew by and they would not be late for the show, but their time in the foyer would be cut short. Something Will would significantly enjoy. When the Alpha left his house for the second time, he found his Bentley running, but Will was waiting outside, huddle into his coat as steam left his mouth with every breath. His scarf was loosely draped around his neck and his coat undone, the blue tie gone from his neck before Hannibal could even choose to mock it.

He came up to Will and dangled in front of him a very plain silk and satin black tie with a subtle pattern of dark blue lines, something Hannibal hadn’t worn in a long time, something he almost threw away just earlier that year. “Will you, or may I?”

“I’m not good with knots without a mirror,” Will said and there was a twist of displeasure in his voice that hinted he wished to deny Hannibal the pleasure.

“You’re not good at tying knots, period,” Hannibal prodded playfully as he pulled the loop over Will’s head.

“They suit my needs. I like to be able to pull them off with the least effort.”

“Cruel,” Hannibal gave him a light frown as he adjusted the collar, smoothing it out before he took to make the knot.

The Alpha allowed himself to close a little distance between them as he worked the silk. Will’s eyes were cast somewhere above his shoulder, impassive and with no complaints, but that unique note Hannibal could only name after Will told him his companion enjoyed the touch. He still couldn’t connect with the fact that no one else could catch Will’s scent, though a selfish little streak in him enjoyed the thought.

He pulled the knot, a little too tight for Will’s taste at first, but with a simple tug of fingers between skin and fabric, it settled into something Will might refer as a comfortable noose. Hannibal straightened the tie, going down its length with the back of his hand and asked, “Good?”

“Can’t wait to take it off,” Will said briskly, and in that moment Hannibal saw it crumpled on his bedroom floor. The Alpha licked his lips and took an immediate step back, hands clasped behind his back. Will looked at him then and said, “But it’s not bad,” and that was most he could hope for a compliment.

“Perhaps I could teach you one day.”

“Perhaps.”

*

The ride was not a long one, but it gave them just enough time to skirt topics that required total privacy.

“I heard Jack brought you in on a case today.”

“How?”

“I still have ties with the FBI. Friends.”

Will was quiet, reluctant or still considering if he should talk about it like good old times. What prompted him to speak was the memory of an idea that came a little too late to him.

“Someone was upset a trombone player didn’t live up to the Orchestras standards, so they turned him into an instrument instead.”

“Oh,” the amusement was palpable in Hannibal’s voice. “And what did he sound like?”

Will smiled, an almost unconscious reaction as they both took interest in the same morbid detail. “I wouldn’t know.”

“A shame.”

“But a thought crossed my mind to pin the crime on The Ripper.” Hannibal gave him an odd look, as distraught as it was confused. “Jack wouldn’t buy it though, he’d noticed the discrepancies in this one.”

The implications were clear and the silence that followed lasted a few blocks. Will noticed the grip Hannibal had on the steering wheel tightened.

“Is there a reason to worry,” the Alpha asked when it was clear Will wasn’t going to say another word.

Will’s tongue was slowly turning to lead since the moment he mentioned it. Nothing good could come out of this talk now, but the look Hannibal gave him was stern and cool, reminiscent of Jack and the subtle ways the Alpha would bring people in line when they stepped out of it. And Will stepped out of it that morning, but not now, not in this car. Still, he had to say something to assuage the mood.

“The suspicion is not on you, but on me, and the circumstances around my change.”

“Is it Jack,” Hannibal asked carefully, “or someone else?”

“Drop it,” Will’s voice was determined, but he tried not to have the words sound commanding, though he had no clue how such words should even feel on his tongue. “This is mine to worry, not yours.”

“I should have a say in the destruction of my own character, shouldn’t I?”

Will considered. “Not today,” and his voice was a deliberate plea. “It’ll sour the mood.”

Hannibal went silent for a beat or two and the firm grip on the steering wheel relaxed. “All right,” the Alpha said reluctantly, and Will was all but prepared to sink into a long uncomfortable silence when another question caught him. “What about my proposal, Will. Have you considered it?”

Will sank in his seat regardless, and with a short burst of laughs. “There’s only one person I can really talk to about the things kicking around my head.” His head turned to Hannibal and the smile on his lips had a sombre quality. Pride nipped at him and he didn’t want to have to say it, but Hannibal was right, and if Will was being truthful, he knew his answer the moment he heard the proposal in the Alpha’s dining room.

The smile Hannibal flashed back at him was filled with a lot more satisfaction. “Shall I schedule an appointment for next week?”

Will shrugged. He couldn’t claim to be busy, so he left the arrangement of the date and time in Hannibal’s hands.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will finally get to the "party". Will has fun bird-watching but also angsting. Warning for hugs and the smell of urinal cakes.

 

A valet waited to take their car. The acknowledgement was almost wordless but there in his eyes – an old visitor, a fond visitor – and before they even climbed the short set of stairs, the same look followed Hannibal from all sides. For a brief moment, Will worried he underestimated just how much attention would be on them. But in truth, eyes only noticed him when Hannibal had his hand placed high on Will’s back, guiding him through the crowd. Crowd by Will’s standards, small gather by Hannibal’s.

As soon as an overly friendly mob approached his Alpha, Will slipped past and made a bee-line for the bar where he picked out a flute glass of some sweet and sparkling. The drink was obnoxious to the taste, just enough so to occupy his lips for many silent sips, and he took another to share with his company. The crowds through which he made his way back were split in clusters, each group locked in their own little private world, not one person sparing the stranger passing by the least bit of interest. Will found himself enjoying the ghostly experience and a smile crept up.

His Alpha gathered his own little island of cultural elites and acquaintances, and as he passed Hannibal the drink, the other introduced him as a colleague. Will chose not to use words and merely smiled broadly and gestured a nod with his head, something the others repeated as way of hello, and just like that all the attention slid right off him and back to the Alpha besides him. Where Will was reclusive, he was sociable and engaging, a bright spot for all the world to focus.

It was wonderful. Even the sparkly drink started tasting better. And with no eyes on him, he had all the room to observe and scrutinize, though he focused most on what was right in front of him.

Two out of five were overly eager to please, one was edged towards eager competition, and the last two were content with just the honour of Hannibal’s presence. An Omega in red lead most of the talk, the eager-to-please sort. The woman of Hannibal’s age was clearly no stranger to casual flirtation as she sang praise to the Alpha’s lavish parties and extraordinary skills in the kitchen. Something about her fervour told Will she never got quite the kind of party she wanted from Hannibal, and Will had to wonder just how much she’d desire him if she knew what he fed her.

The thought pulled a scowl on his face and he buried it in a long sip. He wished then that he had something stronger to wash the bitter taste down.

His attention settled on the two quiet ones basking in the presence, so to speak. One, a very young man, was so taken by the prospect of attention that he couldn’t help his eyes as they wondered around the room, looking at who was looking. The competitive one seemed like another Alpha, though Will wasn’t entirely sure. The air of the foyer was thick with room fresheners and luxury perfumes, and that was enough to confuse his untrained nose. The presumed Alpha and the Omega in red bickered lightly over a past event, over some spilled wine on Hannibal’s harpsichord, and the man in question only humoured them with a laugh that rang hollow in Will’s ears.

Will’s eyes looked to him then, and he found Hannibal gazing back, the smile on his lips infinitely more genuine that that laugh he gave them. Something warm and pleasant was exchanged there, and Will almost entirely lost the bitter taste on his tongue as the corner of his lips pulled into a smile, just for him. They stood close enough to exchange private words, but Hannibal leaned in just a little to make the coming words entirely theirs.

“Having fun?”

“Bird watching,” Will admits and lets his amusement speak for itself. “Almost considered introducing myself under another name, but you beat me to it.”

“My apologies,” and Hannibal seemed very amused by the idea. “We’ll have to try it next time then, in a different place you’ll never return too. I’ll be sure to play along.”

“Very optimistic predictions,” Will raised an eyebrow and took another sip.

“I think the word you’re looking for was _realistic_ ,” he winked, straightened, and turned back his attention to the chuckles being shared in the group.

 _Bold,_ Will thought and he sipped on his drink again, trying to drown out the flutter left in his chest from that insufferable wink.

The two standing on the fringes of their group tried to intervene with some friendly banter aimed at the man of the hour when a pair of strays slipped pass, halted, and slid right in besides Hannibal. One of them, shorter guy, very animated, grasped Hannibal’s arm and shook his hand and uttered the word ‘psychiatrist’ in his brief introduction to the group. Something about his smile was awfully genuine yet his shifty behaviour erased any chances of this meet not being premeditated with a hint of desperation. Will almost chuckled, but the man’s eyes met his.

He was about to pull the old one-two, silent wordless greet, but the man – Franklyn was the name – pulled out his hand with the intent to shake Will’s and even used words to communicate his greeting. It stumped Will for just a moment as he felt his shroud of invisibility slipping through one kind gesture.

Franklyn’s eyes made a brief measure of the distance between Hannibal and Will. “Did you come together,” he asked, aiming his question between the two, and almost immediately proceeding to talk of his own friend he dragged for company.

Will felt the weight of all the eyes on him when Hannibal gave a minimal but affirmative response. Now they were aware of him and would be for the rest of the evening, and the air in his lungs turned stuffy and thick as Will recalled why exactly people had him squeamish nowadays. How soon until they notice, until their curiosity has them asking. He took an unconscious step away from the circle. Will thought of leaving then, for the bathroom or the bar or both, but another hand reached out because Franklyn didn’t come alone.

The grip was tight and brief, but it left Will’s hand aching. _Alpha_ , he thought, because he was yet to meet one that didn’t put unnecessary pressure in their handshakes. Even Hannibal was guilty of that one; perhaps an unconscious effort on their part. Will even forgot to give his name, was about to, but the smiling face he looked up at was cold. Each muscle that pulled into a smile had a rehearsed quality to it, an old practiced routine. Everything about it screamed fake to Will, down to the eyes that stared right through him, almost menacing. A face he’d imagine frozen in the eyes of victims.

Will felt silly as soon as the moment broke. What an exaggeration; these were people around him, not dead bodies to dissect with the tools in his mind. He took his bird watching uncomfortably far, though now he too was being watched and it all still slid uncomfortably across his frame. He thought of leaving again but his eyes couldn’t leave the stranger – Tobias – and Will caught himself analyzing the way his eyes focused and gleamed, and his features became a little more real as he shook hands with Hannibal.

“A pleasure to meet you,” were Hannibal’s words, and he put more life into them than anything he said to his crowd of admirers so far.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Tobias said with a pleasant tone and Will had to wonder if this was truly the first time they met.

Tobias seemed interested, perhaps a little too much, but the intensity of Will’s glare drew his eyes and Will felt silly again, intrusive. He excused himself to the bathroom and left.

Or tried to.

“It will start soon.” Hannibal caught his upper arm to keep him in place. Will thought of protesting, but true to his words, a bell chimed to signal a slow retreat to the concert hall.

“What are we here for again?” An honest question as they moved in tandem, ignoring the chirps of the gathered crowd. Will didn’t bother reading the pamphlet.

“A famed Baltimore soprano will grace us with her most notable pieces, including Verdi’s _Il trovatore_.”

Will blinked. “A woman singing loudly in a language I won’t understand?”

“Yes, Will,” Hannibal smiled and notably resisted the urge to place a hand on his back. “A woman singing loudly in a language you won’t understand.”

*

The intermission saw Will bolting for the bathroom with an actual need for a piss, and then an ever bigger need to not leave the bathroom at all. He lingered over the sink in a meditative state, eyes closed, and he let his mind do what it does best in quiet moments. But perhaps he overstayed because Hannibal was suddenly there, stopping the pendulum swing of his thoughts with the creek of the door and inquiring what kept him so long.

Will splashed water over his face and wiped it with a paper towel. Had he been here that long? The music of the orchestra and the sound of string instruments had him thinking about the body he saw that morning, thinking about the rough shapes of a man that could do that.

“You shouldn’t leave your friends,” Will jabbed with a forced smile, the taste of death fresh on his thoughts. “I know my way back.”

“ _Friends_ is a bit of a strong word.” Hannibal stepped into the bathroom, the two of them its only occupants. “Were the plays so dreadful to listen?”

Will glimpsed at his face in the mirror. “My thoughts were elsewhere, on the play I almost heard this morning. Our song,” he chuckled with a grim recollection of his faux pas at the crime scene.

“ _Our_ song?” Hannibal stepped closer.

“Whoever killed that man,” Will took a step forward, “certainly wasn’t performing just for his own amusement. There had to have been an intended audience.”

“You?” Another step.

“I doubt it.” And another. “I was just the first one to notice it.”

The clamour of voices from the hallways died down, a clear sign of people heading back to their seats.

“You should go back.” Will’s head throbbed. He wanted to stay under the fluorescent lights and think, gather up his thoughts and give Jack something useful. “Your _friends_ will notice your absence.”

“Let’s,” and the Alpha took his hand by the wrist, a gentle tug.

“Perhaps not together,” Will chuckled but didn’t do anything to pull his hand free. “They’ll notice that too.”

“Let them.”

“They’ll talk,” Will said more sternly.

“Let them,” Hannibal replied with equal measure.

“You don’t want that,” Will’s brows pulled into a frown. There were always vultures fishing for dirt and getting off on ruined reputations, here most of all. How dangerous would the Alpha be then?

“Rumours have been formed as soon as we came and more are still to come. They are a staple of these crowds and I’ve been the talk of many.” He tugged Will by the arm a step closer. “And what I want has little bearing on them.”

His voice was a whisper Will could feel on his skin. Death was suddenly a long lost memory, but so was the concert hall and the empty seats waiting for them, all the eyes that would notice them as they’d make their late return. Hannibal was surely never late, until now.

Stupid, Will thought and leaned in, their foreheads touched, and that was all Will wanted in that moment. That, and maybe a good night worth of sleep, his old job, a love life less complicated, a life that wasn’t falling apart, a reputation that wasn’t smirched—

It was like Hannibal heard his loud thoughts, or saw them unconsciously twist the lines of his face, and his arms were around Will, his head resting on his shoulder. Will couldn’t bother complaining or pulling away, didn’t want to. He was suddenly acutely aware of just how good Hannibal’s presence felt and he wished they were elsewhere, private and quiet, some place with their names on it.

Some world where no moral quandaries stood between their union.

“How many people have you killed since,” Will thought of mentioning the six months he lay in the hospital, then thought better and spared himself a little, “since I’ve been awake.” His chin was propped on Hannibal’s shoulder as he waited for an answer, or a reaction. Both would do the trick he couldn’t get himself to pull off.

Hannibal laughs in his ear, a breathy short laugh that had every hair on Will’s nape bristling. The man read his words like an open book and he said nothing, just untangled their arms from each other and took a step back. Will was glad the Alpha chose to react – words would have hurt more, would have given Will the strength to back away himself, but in truth he didn’t want to hear it and a sense of guilt crept with that admission.

*

Letting him leave the car at the end of the night was almost as bad as leaving his arms. Unsaid words hung between them and they would remain silent for the foreseeable future.

“I had fun, in a way,” Will said without returning his gaze. “Thank you. It was a pleasant evening.”

The glance was brief, as was the smile, and Will opened the door to leave him alone again. After an evening of excellent self control, Hannibal’s arm snapped out against better judgement and caught him by the arm, one foot already out of the car. Will turned to look at him, stone cold but the eyes betrayed him, and Hannibal was certain his entire face betrayed him.

“Wednesday,” he croaked and then cleared his voice. “Appointment for Wednesday. How does it sound to you?”

“Good.”

“Same time,” and the Alpha let go, watching as it took another few seconds for Will to entirely leave.

And then he was alone in his car with just the scent of his mate to keep him company. It took Hannibal a great deal of effort to finally leave the vehicle himself and enter the cold lonely expanse of his empty house.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a pretty lame job of proofreading this one, but I just needed to get it out before my muselessness made me sit on it for another week. *finger pistol wink*  
> Istg I have not abandoned it not will I, I'm just besieged by stuff and things and AWOL muses.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal handles Will's distance about as well as you can imagine. His psychiatrist notices and her solution is not to his liking. But playing games with another serial killer? Oh, that's just in his ballpark.

 

Bedelia checked her watch. She did not sit relaxed in her chair, but instead stood behind, her posture stifled. A sight as unbefitting as it was hard to hide, though she tried.

“You’re late,” she said. “You’re never late.”

Hannibal sat down in his designated chair and a long barely contained sigh seeped through his nose. His nostrils flared for the briefest moment. “I was late for work yesterday,” he chose to confess a _then_ instead of a _now_.

“How come,” she asked and did not move to take a seat herself, the chair a poor substitute for a barrier.

“My morning did not go as planned.”

“Your mornings always go as planned.” He gave no further answer so she asked, “Trouble sleeping?”

“Nothing I’d consider alarming.”

It wasn’t even noon but she turned around and poured herself a finger of brandy regardless, and downed it with much haste. This time she took her seat but never once relaxed in it. Something in the air tinged with a broad sense of animosity, and all along her spine she felt the tracing of cold daggers. Her patient seemed oblivious, not to her disquieting but to his own projections.

“And did you see Will Graham recently?” The answer Hannibal gave was a simple nod. “How did that leave you feeling?”

Bedelia’s fingers twined in her lap as she waited for a response, crossed her legs and uncrossed them again, all throughout the silence. He just stared out the window until the words came to him.

“Difficult.” A word and nothing more, but the implication was enough.

“I hope you aren’t thinking of anything,” she cocked his head as she searched for a good word, “unsavoury.”

“Never,” he said and he turned his sight on her with a smile so false she had to wonder why he even bothered to show it. Or perhaps it slipped. Or perhaps he wasn’t even aware.

She knew Hannibal a little too well and all her speculation just made the entire situation all the more daunting.

“This always goes better if I’m being perfectly honest with you,” Bedelia said and she hoped her most calming voice did not translate to something condescending to the other Alpha. It so easily could.

“What would be the point otherwise.”

“One of us has to be.”

“I’m as honest and anyone.”

Bedelia huffed, a frustration bubbling beneath the nervous tapping of fingers against her knee. “You’re an elegantly structured shape obscuring what lies beneath. I see enough of you to see the truth of you, but now I see the seams tearing.” A pause, a swallow, and maybe a little hesitance but she carried on marvellously and softly. “My advice to you is distance. One of you must leave, or this will become a tragedy I do not wish to be a part of.”

“All this from being late?” Hannibal’s smile was mischievous, but the looks she gave him spoke volumes about her conviction.

A part of Hannibal felt insulted to be rendered to a set of base instincts, uncontrollable and hinging on disaster, yet he could not shake away the anomaly his life had become since Will continuously refused him.

He suspected this might be their last appoint for the unforeseen future, and he was right. He so often was. This, though, was not something he wished to be right about.

+++

News was quick to spread about the body left in the Baltimore Orchestra, the worst of details reserved for Freddie Lounds’ corner of the internet. Hannibal had to hand it to the woman; she never failed her readership, and that morning the Alpha had the pleasure of feasting eyes on what Will had intrigued him with a few nights before. _Our song,_ Will had called it because it was meant for someone and that someone might now actually find it.

_Our song._

Silly words to hang on, and yet they bothered him like an unreachable rash.

“Did you enjoy the plays,” Franklyn asked during his session.

Hannibal would have indulged the neurotic man, but lately patience and good will ran thin, even in his office. “We’re not here to discuss me, Franklyn,” and perhaps he said it a little too sharply because the Beta shrank and dropped that subject, only to immediately pick out a new one. Something clearly on his mind.

“How about my friend then, the one you met there? He’s the one I keep mentioning...”

Hannibal’s only indication of interest was an arched eyebrow and Franklyn gladly took it as a sign to go on.

“Have you seen the papers? About that dead man they found in the concert hall.” Hannibal gave a nod but it took the Beta a few moments of squirming in his seat before he could go on. He sat at the very edge of his chair, leaned towards his psychiatrist and spoke in hushed tones. “We’ve seen them play. More than once. And more than once he mentioned how terrible he found the trombonist.” A visible gulp moved his throat before he continued. “And one time, a good while ago really, he even described a particularly morbid way to off someone.”

Hannibal leaned in at that, interest piqued.

“What he described wasn’t very far from what I read in the papers. I took it as a poor joke back then but today I’m not sure what to think.” Franklyn looked worried, in need of guidance, and with questions of going to the police and betraying his friend lingering on his mind. An act like that could damn an Alpha, innocent or not.

“Why do you think he shared that with you?”

There was silence as both rummaged through thoughts. Hannibal’s memory turned back time to the moment of their brief encounter and he recalled noticing an unusual amount of interest this friend, Tobias, regaled them. _Them_ , Will and Hannibal, was it not? Or maybe just—

“He knows I tell you everything,” Franklyn admitted, “he knows I’d come to you with this before anyone else.” His eyes widened suddenly. “Is this some kind of game,” the Beta asked. “An Alpha thing? Did you notice a hint of jealousy when you spoke?”

He was eager to embrace any absurdity that didn’t tarnish the name of the only friend he had, and to an extent Franklyn was right. It was a game, though not quite like the one the Beta had in mind.

“Be careful,” Hannibal said, choosing then to plant doubt instead of quenching fires. “Reports like these can ruin lives. The Administration is not very forgiving, even to the innocent.”

Franklyn looked alarmed. He spoke with an almost whisper, like invoking the Administration turned all the ears of the world on their conversation. “A-are you saying there’s cause to worry?”

“I don’t know your friend. Only you can judge that.”

“What if I’m wrong?”

“And what if you’re right?”

*

_Our song._

Hannibal was too interested to let it slide and he decided on paying the stranger a visit. Either Tobias had his sights on someone he shouldn’t, or he knew things he shouldn’t, or both. And for the first time in the many restless weeks, the Alpha chose to play some games for his own amusement. It was almost a welcome distraction for his mind that kept thinking of people who wouldn’t give him piece. A parson in particular.  

The string shop was not hard to find, and if curiosity couldn’t beckon him inside, the melody surely would. Hannibal didn’t bother with a quiet entrance, for an Alpha could sniff out another in their vicinity with no problem, and just as he entered the haunting sounds of the violin halted and Tobias Budge appeared from behind a closed door.

“Franklyn’s therapist.” That passed for a greeting as they both nodded courtly and exchanged their names with an air of obvious phoniness. “What brings you here?”

Hannibal took his eyes off the man to admire the instruments on display. “Are those strings all gut,” he asked knowing the answer.

“Yes. But I keep polymer or steel string, if you prefer.”

“I prefer the gut, the sound it makes is unmatched. Like the one I heard you play. An original composition?”

“Something I’ve been working on,” Tobias said with faint traces of a smile appearing on his thin lips. Flattery moved him but only a little because the man kept mum about all else and shifted the conversation. “Do you compose?”

“Compose and discover.” Where the other Alpha was reserved, Hannibal fished with irrelevant details and feint interest. The words drew a questioning look from Tobias. “The theremin is among my favourites, and imposing composition on an instrument like that is almost impossible.”

The other Alpha smiled more widely this time but his eyes narrowed. “Instruments speak volumes about the musician playing them.  Especially one that doesn’t require touch.”

There was something knowing in his tone that drew Hannibal’s suspicion. “It's a unique thing. Can generate any pitch throughout its range, even those between conventional notes.”

His own knowing tone did not go amiss with the other Alpha, and the interest was sudden and plain to see on Tobias’ face.

“So can a violin or a trombone.”

“Your instruments of choice?”

“The violin, not the trombone.”

“A shame,” Hannibal said with a crooked smile and exaggerated sympathy. “I hear the Orchestra is looking for a new trombonist.”

“Yes,” Tobias turned away at that and circled behind the counter where he processed his sales. “Dreadful news.”

“Dreadful yes,” Hannibal pushed on, stepping closer, and his eyes never left the other Alpha. A dangerous provocation or an invitation, it was impossible to tell. “But I can’t help thinking the orchestra will be better for it.”

And with those last words, it was very possible to tell the difference between the two looks.

Tobias’ face twitched with a smile and a moment of silent acknowledgement passed between them. “How can I help you?”

“My harpsichord needs new strings. It’s making an awful noise. Perhaps you could help?”

Oh, and he was most interested to help.

+++

Being the one who pledged to keep quiet unless called meant he was at the mercy of Will’s whims and spurs, and the problem with that was that they came rarely. Hannibal filled that emptiness with the company of other – friends, acquaintances, dinner parties, galas, tastings, art shows, concerts, and just about anything he could think of that would get him out of his home, or other people in.

Somehow it had become normal for the Alpha to look upon the emptiness of his beloved space as a cancerous mass in need of a cure. Will was the only remedy, but the presence of others was enough to distract him, if only momentarily. That evening he had nothing planned but a dinner for two, and oddly enough Will was not a part of the equation. It felt only slightly like betrayal.

Tobias Budge came and fastidiously fixed what was purposefully broken, but unlike in his shop he did not feign disinterest at the dinner invitation afterwards.

They had barely begun their meal when Hannibal decided to strike at the heart of the issue with all the grace of a lion.

“I apologize for being so blunt, Tobias, but I have to ask... did you kill that trombonist?”

The other Alpha chewed his mouthful, eyes trained on the plate, and he did not seem to be in a rush to swallow, nor did he seem particularly upset by the question. “Do you really have to ask,” he said with an almost annoyed tone.

“Franklyn gave me your message. Why is that, I wonder?”

“I wanted to kill you,” Tobias said simply. “Franklyn’s fussiness over you was becoming a chore to listen to.”

“Wanted?” Hannibal was honestly curious.

“I stopped after I followed you one night.  Out of town.  Out of state.  To a lonely road.  To a bus yard.”

Tobias smiled but Hannibal didn’t. He remembered that night clearly, not one of his better night. A frustrated and sleepless night, like many were these days, only that one birthed in wickedness and a new pair of kidneys in his fridge. “Do you know who I am?”

“I have some guesses.”

Now Hannibal too smiles, and dangerously so. “Are you here to test your mettle?”

“No. Nor am I here to blackmail. I’m looking for a friend. A partner.”

Hannibal paused mid bite. That evening was certainly taking some interesting turns and curves, some the Alpha had only vaguely entertained as possibilities.

When Hannibal lowered his cutlery, Tobias continued to talking. “Someone who can understand me.  Who thinks like I do, and can see the world and the people in it the way I do.”

“You’re reckless,” was his first comment. “You shared too much with a—”

“Franklyn won’t live long enough to pose a threat,” was the other Alpha’s retort.

“Are you certain? Are you aware the FBI is on your case?”

“I took an interest in you,” Tobias spoke with a brisk, almost offended tone. “Of course I’m aware of the _person_ on my case.” He eyed Hannibal’s hand that twitched closer to the knife by his plate. “I’ve yet to suss out what that is about. Perhaps, like me, you want to see them try and catch you. A favorited playing, then? Or something more? I couldn’t even tell what he was. A Beta perhaps?”

Tobias seemed curious and questioning for a moment, and Hannibal had to hope his face did not betray a thing. A moment later and the other Alpha shrugged and continued eating.

“I want them to catch me,” Tobias said with nonchalance. “I want them to send their very best. And when they do, I will leave a mess and I will disappear. But I could use a partner. This existence is a lonely one.”

His tone was no less frigidly steady, but the last words felt like a private confession only he could understand. And Tobias was right; Hannibal was in a rare position to understand just exactly what the other Alpha felt. But he was also in a position to find his suggestion absolutely unappealing.

“I know exactly how you feel, but I don’t want to be your partner.”

Tobias looked mildly disappointed. “Why invite me then? It wasn’t just to restring your harpsicord.”

“I wanted to know what you know.” A tad too much for Hannibal’s liking, as it turned out. “And then possibly kill you.” Tobias looked down at his food, but Hannibal scoffed. “I didn’t poison you Tobias. I wouldn’t do that to the food.”

But he also didn’t want to paint the dining room with his blood. There was another idea forming, something much more useful to him. “I gave up the idea,” Hannibal confessed. “I may not want to join you but I’d much rather see the mess you leave behind.”

“Certainly,” something almost modest passed over the other Alpha’s face. “I can promise you it will be a thing not soon forgotten.”

It was difficult to let Tobias leave, even with the promise. The idea was sound but Hannibal’s mind had the gall to be treacherous in the very last moments. What if, _what if._ What if everything went wrong? This was where he should end it, in his house among his soundproof walls, and never mention a thing to anyone, cook a few dinners and get rid of the evidence. But oh, so badly did the Alpha want to make right by the only person that mattered that he ignored his common reasoning and stayed his hand.

There was a moment as he watched the other Alpha walk away where, had he not slammed the door shut, Hannibal felt he would have run after him and attacked in the street for all the world to see. He was fraying, dangerously so, and his psychiatrist had right to fear and politely ask he not make any more appointments.

Hannibal leaned against the door as he turned the lock to keep himself in, a vision of Will behind his closed eyes, and he could hardly bare the desperation with which he wanted to hear the other’s voice.

Music helped him that evening, sitting by the harpsicord with its new strings and working on old compositions, and when that could no longer distract him, Hannibal went to an early sleep and fought the deafening silence not to take him into madness.

It helped knowing Wednesday was just around the corner, and with it Will would come to his office.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A coffee with a friend and a meeting with The Ripper where all sorts of character assassinations get discussed. Some enjoy it more than others, and Will begins to worry about the state of his Alpha. Perhaps his plea for distance isn't doing anyone any good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're back after a long delay. I've been busy with a combination of life, work, and the Hannibal big bang. It's not even edited yet but I can't wait to start posting :D! All those who enjoy my attempts at horror will probs get a kick out of it. And the art, ohhh the art... Y'all don't even know... 
> 
> In the meantime, here's the long overdue ch8 and a tentative promises of no more long waits. Thanks for bearing with me <3

The diner was Beverly’s idea, all decked out in a 50s style with a jukebox playing old greatest hits. It felt unlike her and yet, in her own words, a favourite. Will ran a few minutes late and that seemed to give her carte blanche to order for both of them. The coffee milkshake tasted just fine, though Will couldn’t help a good natured sigh when he saw it.

“You should see the offices.” Work seemed to weigh heavily on her mind, even when she herself made the invitation for some friendly socialising. “Stacked full of crates and files as far as the eye can see. I haven’t done this much paperwork in a full year!”

“What’s happening?”

Beverly quirked an eyebrow as she sipped the cold coffee through a straw. “Internal investigation. A crackdown from the upper echelons that’s been going on forever,” the usually animated Alpha took another long sip of her coffee before she continued. Right then and there she seemed utterly drained and sorely lacking an entire week off, not just a day. “Things snowballed after you, uhh, pulled your stunt.”

Will made an effort not to make a reaction as she seemed to be looking for one.

“A routine inspection after a media circus, they called it. But it turned sour. Some of the floors were not run within satisfying parameters and a lot of people lost their jobs, mandatory psych evals are getting handed left and right, old cases just keep boiling on the backburner, and there’s still seven grieving families with empty caskets keeping the Hobbs case alive. Jack’s under a lot of heat, but I’m sure you know that.”

“Not really,” Will said with a gentle shrug. “Should I?”

Beverly got a passing look of shock before she blurted out, “Yeah you should, you brought most of it on him.”

Will’s only reaction was a mouthed oh, but beneath the table his fingernails dug into his thigh.

“I mean,” the Alpha was quick to correct herself, the harshness leaving her voice, “you did break the law with your hormone therapy, Will. That’s the circus that brought on the investigation. Jeez, you should see what Lounds keeps writing about that.” Another sip of coffee and before Will could say anything about Lounds, she added, “Please don’t look it up.”

Will hadn’t and didn’t want to. His curiosity was beaten by a sense of self-preservation and a need to keep the last pieces of his dignity. Some days when strange looks followed him from across the street, he had the distinct feeling a certain news reporter was to blame more than his lack of scent. He had no taste for her or talking about her. A mix of guilt and anger still haunted him from their last meeting when he clearly remembered picturing the hammer in his hand going through her skull. Will swallowed the bitter feeling and steered his thoughts to the nearest string of conversation dangly in the air.

“Jack came by recently,” he said, “and shared some strange ideas with me. He certainly sounded like he was under a lot of stress.”

Beverly chuckled hard. “Oh, I know what you’re talking about.”

“You do?” Will betrayed too much with the way his eyes opened wide, but she didn’t look like she noticed, still caught in a romantic gaze with her iced coffee.

“Hard not to noticed when your boss gets distracted by trivial shit in the midst of office chaos. We confronted him about it but it was clear he wasn’t planning on sharing, and I doubt a lack of evidence had anything to do with it.” The Alpha chuckled again, decisively shaking her head in a resolute no. “Ridiculous,” Beverly said, looked at Will right in the eyes and spoke with the kind of cool confidence Alphas were knows for. “I’m certain you’ll appreciate my honesty when I say no one knows you, not even Jack. He thinks he does, but you never really let anyone know you, and now he’s got these ideas in his head that someone did this to you because you yourself wouldn’t. If I were you, I’d find it very insulting.”

A pang of something dull and unpleasant spread through Will’s chest. Her words wounded but they weren’t wrong. Will never let anyone in, and the result of that was everyone thinking he’d do something like this to himself. An image of Hannibal smiling that languid smile of his sliced through his thoughts like an axe. He wanted to punch it and he wanted to kiss it, and once again Will needed to remind himself the unfairness of the situation was exactly what he was looking for.

He gritted his teeth, pulled a smile, and carried on. Never once did their chat veer into something personal.  

+++

Hannibal poured him a glass of wine, white and fragrant. It was certainly an unorthodox way to start their therapy again, but they only ever knew the unorthodox. Even now, this therapy was a just a moniker for private conversation.

“A terrible thing,” Will swirled the wine in his glass, “to have your identity taken from you.”

A moment of stillness betrayed the Alpha’s surprise at the haste with which Will jumped straight to business, no meandering. That had been Will’s only plan of conversation up until he entered Hannibal’s office and saw the relief in the man’s eyes and the mess on his desk, the slightly crooked tilt of his tie, the way the carped bunched at the foot of his therapy chair. The unemptied basket of trash. The already opened bottle of wine. A half empty glass. Jacket discarded gracelessly over a chair. Curtains pulled tight over the windows. Dimmed lights. Unhooked phone. Tension in the air buzzing like an electric storm.

Will’s questions of worry would betray the resolve he came in with, so he swallowed it down, took his seat and accepted the glass of wine, mind set on their last unfinished conversation and nothing else.

“It’s hard for me not to have a problem with your plan, Will. The Chesapeake Ripper has been dormant for a while now and would stay as such. There is no need for a patsy. No one is even aware of the connection between the copycat.”

“I made the connection.”

“No one listened to you.”

“Jack may have.”

Hannibal’s face darkened and his entwined fingers flexed. “Tell me, how close is he?”

Will didn’t know what to exactly tell him, so he settled on the only truth he knew. “It felt really good knowing that someone believed in me,” the smile he gave was wan, and Hannibal’s mood did not better. The Alpha took in a sharp breath through his nose but surprisingly said nothing and allowed Will to continue. “You took my identity from me,” Will said with resolution and an unwavering voice, mimicking Beverly’s own tone he heard earlier that day, “and I will take yours. That should make us even.”

Will stood and walk over to the windows, pulling on the curtains to see the street. He didn’t want to face the heat of Hannibal’s gaze, equal parts pride and ire.

The room was quiet, no one said a word or moved a muscle until the squeak of leather betrayed Hannibal standing up. The footsteps stopped behind Will, close but not personal.

“This person you wish to burden with my body of work will have to die.” _You will have to kill again_ , was left unsaid, hanging in the air over Will’s head like a sword. The floor creaked as Hannibal moved even closer.

“I’ll do what has to be done when I get back in a position to do it.” Will looked over his shoulder, brows knit in worry, “Which might be a while. There are internal investigations being conducted at the FBI.”

Will knew well the nature of things kicking in his head, and the two wicked lives he took. Hannibal could rubber stamp him with ease, but if the Administration wanted him in their chair as well, they’d find what he’d try so desperately to hide. Will shuddered at the thought. He didn’t even fully know what an actual evaluation looked like, yet already his mind plagued him with nightmarish images of dark rooms, chairs with cuffs and straps, and needles filled with narcotics.

And so typical of Hannibal to smell blood in the water. His next words seemed to cut at the core of Will’s issues with a surgeon’s precision.

“We don’t have to wait for you to stumble on the perfect crime,” the Alpha placed a hand on his shoulder, tone low like a devil whispering in his ear. “They can be manufactured.”

Will’s mouth opened. He wanted to protest but no sound came out, so he thought on it with only mild reluctance. “No one innocent can take the blame for this,” he made clear very quickly.

“Wouldn’t even dare to suggest it,” Hannibal smiled, Will’s MO clearly on his mind.

“The Ripper is a monster,” Will turned to look at him and his Alpha had the gall to play the hurt face. “We’d need someone of equal standards, or at least matching sadism.”

“Not impossible to find,” the Alpha smiled. He was so please with this development and Will could scarcely believe himself consider it, but the idea was sound, though it needed work.

“And how would you go about finding one,” Will asked, curious, certain Hannibal had a plethora of unique patients that could fit the bill. He himself was probably among them.

“I wouldn’t. I’d let it find me.” Will frowned, puzzled. “But only if we have the time for that luxury,” and both of the Alpha’s hands landed on Will’s shoulders, their grip tightening with urgency. “How close is Jack?”

Will’s breath caught in his throat. There was an unhinged quality to the way the Alpha looked at him, a promise of death if the wrong answer was given. Will became aware of all that was wrong in the office again, all that was wrong with the Alpha. Did others notice when Hannibal did not? The doctor’s reputation was impeccable, surely a bad day or two could be forgiven and shrugged off. Or perhaps it stuck out even more because of it, bells of danger ringing as he’d pass by for the whole world to see.

Will raised a hand a wrapped a gentle grip around the Alpha’s arm, his thumb drawing circles through the cotton shirt. “There’s not a suspect on him mind,” he spoke with a mellow voice, his eyes holding the Alpha tethered, “just a nameless nebulous thought he’s toying with. That’s all. Don’t worry about Jack, he’s not the problem.”

He was, but not Hannibal’s, not in this state and preferably not ever.

Will didn’t know what he hoped his words would achieve, just that maybe the situation would unwind, that his Alpha would look at him a little less unhinged. Hannibal just stared at him for a long moment before all manner stress left him through a loud and snarling exhale. His hands were still on Will’s shoulders and the Alpha had to do little to pull him into an embrace and burry his nose in the crook of Will’s neck.

“Bad day,” Will asked and he couldn’t help his soft chuckle.

“Every day is bad without you.”

The words were muffled and low, more a vibration he felt through his skin than sound he heard with his ears. It had the taste of a very private confession, the kind no one was meant to hear, not even Will. He pulled his arms around the Alpha’s middle and said nothing else, gave him the time to recuperate his senses.

Silence and stillness befell them again, and the only murmurs of noise in the room were Hannibal’s deep inhales of breath. Will made the mistake of closing his eyes for just a moment, and sleep would have taken him so quickly had he not heard—

“I have something to tell you,” Hannibal spoke in his ear, “something that may very well breach doctor patient confidentiality. But you will want to hear this.”

+++

Hannibal sat behind his desk relaxed, all tension drained out of him, eyes closed. A loose smile played on his lips. Will’s scent was still permeating in his nose, stuck in his clothes and in the molecules of air around his office. But there was more than just the aftermath of his visit to keep Hannibal content.

The look of pride on Will, the glint of happiness in his eyes, the kiss left on the Alpha’s cheek – all that for a little information relay about a possible killer with a penchant for string instruments.

_I know what to do with this_ , Will told him and Hannibal had no reason to doubt, though he had some reason to mourn missed opportunities.

Deliberately missed.

He kept the details vague enough that Will couldn’t know he met this killer, but telling enough to point him in a good direction. Half way through his words the Alpha realized he didn’t want to tell him everything, he didn’t want to steer Will into the den of some dangerous Alpha. Not unless Hannibal too was present. No point otherwise, just reckless endangerment, and the thought sullied his mind throughout the evening.

The sabotage of his own idea betrayed a weakness, a care so deep he was afraid to even dangle Will before a worthy challenge. And doubt creeped too. Would Will go on the hunt alone and expose himself exactly to what Hannibal had trampled his instincts for?

No-no. Hannibal shook it off, spun a record, and opened his fridge with hope to find some interesting pieces to assemble into a meal. The evening was a much smoother ride under the Moonlight Sonata, Will still colouring his thoughts, and there were hours more before his sleep, hours that had to be carefully filled with meditative action to keep the chaos at bay. The chaos so unlike him that filled him with reckless dangerous thoughts.

None of the thoughts sounded appealing to his rational mind, but his sleeping self had nerves of paper in the quiet of the night, and they’d tear themselves listening.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will ponders on Bad Ideas™ and visits the doctor. There, he hears some uncomfortable things and gets reminded just how he got in this position to begin with. Consequentially, Hannibal ends up having a worse day than originally predicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret calling that doctor Murry, because I keep imagining Bill Murray in drag. It's not even spelled the same way but that clearly makes no difference to my brain. Enjoy the image!  
> Oh, and I really hope you guys are able to remember what happened last time. I know I'm not making it easy for you with the infrequent updates :/ sorry.

 

Will tapped his fingers to the rhythm of the clock—tick, tick, tick. The phone was in his hands, number already dialled, conversation finalized.

Hannibal was very careful with his words, either to protect his psychiatric credibility or for reasons more mischievous, but he left enough clues that did not keep Will up too late that evening. A concerned patient with a suspicious friend, a sense humour that sounded like a crime scene, a string shop, and the briefest implication of having met them—Will spent longer trying to remember the man’s name than actually connecting the dots. And with that information, and a little internet research, he had it all at the tip of his fingers and zero power to actually make an arrest.

He called Jack too quickly without even processing it, and when he heard the man’s voice he realised he couldn’t tell him all the details. But he could tell him some.

Will’s tongue twisted a little before the proper story painted itself before his eyes, and when it did, Jack got just the right amount of information that should send his men on a controlled goose chase. The key were string shops, the missing link that connected all that absent gut from the victims, and specifically those that sold organic string.

Will carefully asked Jack if he could be included in the hunt, knowing full well what the answer would be—a reluctant but hard ‘no’ that told him a lot about the pressure Jack Crawford was under. And it was that same ‘no’ that had Will tapping his fingers to the rhythm of the clock and pondering bad ideas so early in the morning.

Narrowing down the search, sending men to investigate, analysing gut string; it would all take days to finish. A week if lucky, if enough men were on the job. How many could die in between, like the worried patient whose name still escaped Will, or another unsatisfying orchestra performer, or anyone at all just to send out another desperate message of companionship. Will could understand that much more than he’d like to, that cold emptiness spreading inside him every moment of every waking day and sleeping night he didn’t spend with—

He stood quickly and went for his jacket. “Come on boys,” and Will punctuated the call with a sharp whistle that had all the dogs lining up at the door. They needed a walk and Will needed to think of things other than Hannibal Lecter.

And yet, when he made his way to the hospital for his scheduled check-up, Hannibal Lecter was all he could think about.

“Your blood analysis is good,” dr. Murry said, lowered his files, and picked up the signed and stamped corroboration Will brought. Her eyes paused at the name in the signature line. “And you’ve got yourself a psychiatrist. Though the choice might be a little…”

She trailed off, leaving words unsaid. Her eyes found Will’s and saw a resolute decision to play dumb. “Well,” the doctor cleared her throat, “at least you got one. I would not have enjoyed calling the Administration on you.” She cleared the paperwork from her desk and asked, “Shall we take this time to talk about further procedures?”

Will was all ready to leave but her question caught him surprised somewhere between sitting and standing. “Further procedures,” he asked dumbfounded and not at all faking it. He expected more tests and check-up, a possible answer to his missing scent, but this caught him completely unprepared. Suddenly he very much regretted never sitting down and taking the time to do a properly researching of what it meant to change one’s biology.

“Yes,” she said, too busy clearing out paperwork to notice his sudden confusion. “The procedure would be delicate, certainly, and a little uncomfortable in the first weeks, but it’s a completely safe one. It might even hide the answer to your scent issue.” Dr. Murry seemed to have more to say but as she looked up, it was impossible to miss the confusion and slight panic mixing on Will’s face.

“Were you not thinking of seeing this through,” and suddenly she was the one confused. “Your reproductive system isn’t going to adjust on its own, you know. You’re too old for that to happen.”

Will got all the way up very quickly. “No, none of that,” he said and quickly turned for the door.

“Wait,” dr. Murry got up as well and it was her turn to sound shocked, “why go through with something so dangerous if you’re not even—”

“Same time next week,” Will cut in with a sharp questioning look, his hand on the door knob.

“I—yes,” and before she could say what she wanted, Will was out of the office with a courteous good-bye and a hard slam.

Dr. Murry sat down carefully, took off her glasses, and rubbed the bridge of her nose as she questioned why so many mysteries and irregularities loved piling around this one patient.

Outside her office Will walked and he walked fast. He walked through the corridors and out the hospital, walked right past the parking lot and his car, walked far enough not to see the hospital, kept walking past people and places until there was only the sound of birds and distant traffic to keep him company. He caught his breath on a bench, and buried his face in the palms of his hands.

Hannibal Lecter was all he could think about once again.

***

“You weren’t home yesterday,” Alana said as she lingered by the entrance, and Hannibal would have noticed her odd look had he bothered to lift his head from the desk.

Indeed, he wasn’t home yesterday. Out and about instead, in the dead of night searching for inspiration or peace or just about anything that could get his mind off Will Graham and what he did, where he was, who he was with, his thoughts and plans, and that incessant need to know if he suffered the same. “Is that a problem,” his question of an answer came out a little too sharp and entirely unlike him.

“It is, when we’ve made plans.”

She made an effort to sound playful instead of piqued, and that’s what had Hannibal lifting his eyes to meet her. The context of her words hit him a moment after and the Alpha raised his eyebrows high as he asked, “Did we?”

Alana opened her mouth and closed it again without saying a word, a curious half smile tugging at her lips. She seemed amused more than bothered but she also held her place firmly by the door, and that the Alpha noticed. He couldn’t help comparing it to an animal, a very cautious deer that stopped its feeding to smell the air for danger. It was all too easy to go from a thought like that to one of him moving into an attack. How would she fight him off? Could she? Would the Omega find a way to subdue him even when their scent does nothing for him? Would she plead? How often would she ask why as hands around her throat constrict—

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever heard of you forgetting an appointment,” she said and it broke Hannibal reverie. “Congratulations,” the corner of her lips curled and her voice took a chiding tone, yet still she did not move close, “you’re human after all.”

The first laugh that left him was as fake and as stilted as his posture, but as the afterimages of her death left the forefront of the Alpha’s thoughts, he laughed more genuinely and slipped back into his comfortable mask.

“Forgive me,” he said, because the situation still needed to be salvaged, and Alana was very, very attentive. “I have no excuse, other than my work.”

“Strange for work to give you trouble. What happened,” the Omega’s brows furrowed and she took a full two steps ahead, then stopped. Hannibal took that into account and refrained from standing up and approaching her in any way. She sensed something off, as Omegas tend to.

“A very problematic patient,” he paused for effect, sighed, and did not have to act much, or at all, to look tired and annoyed. “I’ve had a visit from the Administrative board because of them.”

Alana did not gasp, but she did cover her mouth. This common plague for every psychiatric practice was nothing to joke about, and every serious practitioner was bound to find themselves in the Administration’s crosshair at some point during their career. Alana was no exception, and neither was Hannibal, though for much different reasons. Their visit earlier in his career was not a part of any complaint of malpractice or misdemeanour, but an inevitable cycle for any Alpha who found work in a field they didn’t usually belong. 

“Did they—” and she cut herself off, quickly closed the distance between the door and his work table, and brought her voice to a half whisper, “your licence?”

“No, nothing that serious,” Hannibal shook his head, “but it was still enough to throw my week into chaos.”

“I understand,” she nodded and glanced at the mess on his desk, “and I assume you have a lot of work left before the weekend, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Rain check on the dinner?” The Alpha started getting up, not too hastily, but whatever situation had her tense was gone now, covered with lies and adequate explanations.

“You just say when and I’ll be sure to have a free evening.”

“Is my cooking that good?”

The Omega smacked his arm playfully with the back of her hand. “Fishing for compliments now? What has become of you, dr. Lecter.”

She exited the office in a fine mood, but when she saw Will sitting in the lobby, Alana positively beamed, turned to Hannibal and mouthed, _good job._

“Good to see you, Will,” she tapped him on the shoulder. She heard his mumbled hello and noticed his foul mood, but it wasn’t hers to ask about it. She left knowing that whatever had Will upset would be handled expertly by Hannibal.

“I botched my doctor’s appointment,” Will sat on the blue settee as soon as the door closed behind him, half his face buried in a palm, the other holding on to his glasses. “She sprung something unexpected on me and I reacted poorly. There’ll be questions.”

Hannibal smiled as he took a moment to absorb the sight of Will. Home had come to him that evening, an unannounced pleasure, and he took in a deep breath expecting instant rejuvenation. What he found instead was the younger Alpha’s familiar sweetness marred by something acrid and unnerving. It did not help Hannibal off the edge he was perched on. On the contrary, it nudged him further, and Hannibal took distance from him.

Will was an Alpha, in bits and pieces at least, and he smelled like one that was agitated. Hannibal was in a similar basket and there were plenty courses of action to take, but being in the same room was not one of them.

Still, Hannibal did not want to send him away.

“Let her question,” he said as he took out a decanter of wine and two glasses. “She cares for your physical health, not your mental. What she requires of you is blood, not answers to questions outside her field. If she troubles you,” he poured them both generous portions, “direct her to me.”

“Sounds too easy,” Will said unconvinced.

“And what did you discuss?”

“The usual,” Will gave him a short and brisk rundown. “And then she asked if I was ready to schedule a surgery for,” he fumbled for words, gesturing his hand in a circle, “for the full package.”

Hannibal came closer to offer the wine and asked, “Did you settle on a date?”

Will was about to take the offered drink, but when he heard that question, his eyes blew open with shock and he slapped the long-stemmed glass out of the Alpha’s hand. It shattered into tiny pieces and spilt red on the carpet.

Will stood up quickly and levelled his eyes with Hannibal. “You did not just ask me that,” he spoke with disbelief and anger, and suddenly that bitter aggravating stench was all around.

Hannibal watched the stain with a sour gaze, and it took him looking back at Will to realise he had said something wrong, but not exactly what. His mind felt weighted, like a thick fog had covered it, and he did not trust himself to move.

“Unnecessary,” Hannibal said in a cool and mannered tone, and hid the flexing knuckles of his free hand in the pocket of his trousers.

“You know what else was unnecessary?” Everything about Will’s tone was riling, and Hannibal felt his jaw click, teeth scraping against each other as the other Alpha raised his voice. “Turning me into a god damn experiment!”

Hannibal’s tone was chilling, where Will’s was loud and heated. He reached out to touch him, an instinct and a reflex, but he grabbed his arm instead with little gentleness. “Will,” he tried to mellow his tone, but two men on the edge could not calm each other.

“Don’t touch me,” Will tore himself away from the grip, fists clenched. There was a tremor passing through him and Hannibal recognized it as a need to lash out when emotions get too high strung in the wrong direction; an old reaction still memorized in the primal parts of the brain. “You made it very clear what you expect from me,” Will used his words to swipe at him instead of fists, thankfully.

“Do not presume,” Hannibal’s voice got a little higher, but he held his place. Will seemed to realise, perhaps subconsciously, the delicate nature of their argument, of their conditions, and he put another step of distance between them. “You’re blowing this out of proportion,” Will laughed bitterly as Hannibal again tried his best to be the calm voice of reason, but he did not dare to unroot himself from his position. “We’re both a little—”

“Shut up,” Will spat, took another step back, and turned his head away. He took a few deep breaths as he tried to calm the shaking fists at his side. “You’re all that’s wrong in my life.”

Hannibal said nothing, all of his will poured into standing perfectly still and banishing the thoughts of all the unsavoury way he could fix this problem. But it stung, oh it stung him hard, and he could feel the delicate stem of his wine glass giving in to the pressure of his hand.

“I apologise for coming unannounced,” Will said with a damning bitterness, and he was gone fast, the door slamming so hard behind him it shook the statue of a stag resting besides it.

His own glass that the Alpha so stubbornly held on to finally cracked, the stem breaking into chunks that dug deep into the flesh of Hannibal’s hand. Another splash of red on the carpet, and on his shoes, and his trousers, but Hannibal paid none of it any mind, not even his bleeding hand. He closed his eyes tightly and snarled, still fixed on keeping himself still and away from the thought of running after Will and doing something terrible.

He’d never felt so powerless in his life.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of their fight take a toll on both of them, but most heavily on Hannibal. Can't hide in the basement forever because people are already noticing.

 

The fire was a persistent burning he felt in the back of his skull and its smoke obscured all else from view. People moved in his path and gave him odd, concerning looks. A couple even crossed the street. The walk to the car was long and chilling but it didn’t soothe him, and getting home was a dull and frustrating affair of red lights, traffic, and curse words that did not help his anger. It wasn’t until Will entered his house, slammed the door shut, and sat down in the semi-dark with a drink in hand that the fire started to run on empty.

It was quiet inside, ghostly calm and unnaturally so for a place filled with no less than seven dogs, and it was that silence that shook him from his smouldering anger. The dogs were quiet, some huddled by the cold fireplace while others lie prostrate on their beds, looking at him with sad eyes. They needed a walk and they needed to be fed, but they asked for nothing because their pack leader was in a frighteningly bad mood.

Guilt moved him and Will abandoned his drink for a bag of gourmet kibble and his jacket. The dogs followed him out the opened door with a bit of reluctance, but freedom was quick to turn them animated and loud. It drew a reluctant smile out of Will as he poured their food in bowls, but the majority of his thoughts were still with Hannibal, stuck in that office that reeked of danger and incited him towards it.

There were moments he was certain he would have taken a swing, caution be damned, but what stopped him wasn’t reason. It was Hannibal and his posture, that statuesque way he held himself like the remains of a gorgon’s prey, stone faced and calm. In that moment, in a room full of rage, it looked like indifference and it served to drive Will out. In hindsight, it was nothing short of a miracle that Will got to leave at all. Those were not the signs of a man in control but of one barely holding still, and no words Will could have said, or punches he could have thrown, would have hurt Hannibal nearly as much as leaving. Just leaving.

No action could have hurt Will as much either. With his ebbing anger came clarity and worry, and guilt. Scenarios of Hannibal snapping from his barely contained state, the consequences of it, and the weight bearing on Will’s shoulders. Worse than all that was the acute sense of knowing what it felt like to be abandoned in a moment of need, and by a mate even.

Will dropped the bag of kibble and sat down on the porch to play with one of the dogs that came closer, yearning for attention. He scratched the little one behind the ears and she seemed to like it, and that was the first thing he did all day that made him feel less of a failure. And he was a walking one after all – a medical failure, a social failure, a failed mate but that was no news to him, and not even good for a job anymore before some psychiatric yahoo said he was ok in the head.

There was still someone to blame for some of those problems, someone other than himself. The fire in him ebbed but was not gone, and it would not leave him so easily. He packed his guilt and locked it in the dusty cellar of his mind, dropping all thoughts of calling Hannibal with it.

 _Let him stew,_ he thought, and tried not to see his hands covered in red.

*

“First you refuse my invitation, and now you do not return my calls. I’ve never known you to be this busy, Hannibal, it’s almost like you’re avoiding us. But I’m certain we’d find it in our hearts to forgive you were you to throw another one of your marvellous dinner parties. You’ve been teasing for quite some time now. Oh, but you won’t believe who’s having—”

The intention was to push the stop button and erase the message, but the phone got ripped from its cord and sent hurling across the hallway with one swipe. It was a well enough solution because the message stopped playing.

Hannibal took his coat off and threw it in the general direction of the coat hanger. He missed by a wide margin and the heavy wool crumpled on the floor, utterly ignored by the man who threw it. The Alpha made his way towards the kitchen, clawing at the Windsor knot around his throat that had been uncomfortably tight all evening. It didn’t give in easily under such reckless pulling, so with both hands he tore it up and threw it in the trash bin. The lid was closed though, and the ruined tie fell on top of it. Lastly, Hannibal took off his jacket and threw it over the counter, pulled up a stool and rested his elbows on it. Fingers rubbed circles in his temple, hoping to release the tension building under his skull, but it was more psychological than physical.

His head was full of buzzing flies, a mess of thoughts and would-be actions that lost all semblance of order. He wanted to go for a run, to clear the adrenaline pulsing under his skin, but the Alpha was collected enough to know what a terrible idea that was. Busy street, lights everywhere, people walking home from work; there wasn’t a scenario in which his run wouldn’t end with someone throat torn open. Instead, he took apart his keys until he only held the one that mattered. The pantry was never locked but behind its wooden walls hid a switch, hid a door, and another door that fit the key.

There was a light switch at the top of the stairs, at the bottom of the stairs, and a few more scatter about the basement, but as Hannibal closed the door behind him and turned the key, he did not turn on the light. He descended the stairs in darkness and when he reached the bottom, he threw the key into the dark. A clang was heard in the distance and Hannibal flipped the switch, allowing the sterile cold expanse of his basement to welcome him home. But even its frigid embrace did little for his burning mind.

The medical cabinets were stocked well with all sorts of sedatives, narcotics, hypnotics, legal or otherwise. He took an appropriate one, filled the syringe with its fluid, and without much care for his unrolled sleeves he stuck the needle in his arm. The used syringe got thrown away somewhere behind him with another clang, and Hannibal sat down on the cold concrete floor, back resting against the equally freezing steel cabinet. The drug worked quickly to take away the feeling in his limbs but the Alpha’s mind was left to wonder. When the weight of his body tipped him to the side, he slid down and hit the floor without feeling either pain or cold, but he did feel fear. Or at least he thought it was fear. The recollections of his childhood were locked far away and unsafe for revisiting, but he called it fear anyway.

Fear for his control and the loss of it. Fear for where it would take him tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after. Fear for the cracks showing in the walls of his meticulously crafted life.

Fear of Will and his abandonment. That one, that one he was certain was actual fear.

Hannibal didn’t remember falling asleep but he must have, at least for a little, because he remembered lifting eyelids to the painful glare of white fluorescent lights and the almost drunken stupor cosying over his mind. His limbs were crawling with fire ants as they moved for the first time in long hours of no motion. His extremities were still tingling and not ready to support weight, but to find the key he threw he only had to crawl. By the time he found it, the muscles were ready to support him, so the Alpha stood, straightened his shirt, and limped up the stairs.

On a regular morning, he’d go straight for the bathroom to wake up with his morning routine of a cold shower, but hunger lead him to the fridge. He took out four eggs and threw them in a pan with some butter and salt. The blandest meal he’d made in at least twenty years, but he couldn’t be bother to reach for the spices or the herbs or the bacon. Not even bread. Not even coffee. Operating his French press took effort and the most he could muster now was to pour himself a glass of water.

He looked up between spoonfuls of scramble and saw that it was six thirty in the morning, and he had to smile to himself just a little. The internal clock still worked, and as he finished his breakfast, he catalogued from his memory all the appointments he had that day and all the days following. He practiced speaking before the grogginess left his voice and then he made the calls from the kitchen counter, over his eggs. Some were elated to hear about their free afternoon, others polite in their neutrality, but most were a bit difficult, not used to him cancelling. Franklyn was particularly difficult.

“But I need to speak with you, it’s really important. It’s about,” and the Beta brought his voice to a whisper, “it’s about my fr—”

Hannibal hung up on him. He told him what he had to say and there was no more to it. All the eggs were gone from his plate, too, and Hannibal picked himself up and went to the bathroom to wash out the taste of bland from his mouth. There were several missed calls by the time Hannibal finished stitching the remains of his dignity, but none of them belonged to the one person that mattered. The detail stung and irked and made the Alpha grit his teeth, so he broke that stupid rule just a few hours later when he felt that shaking sense of control erode with time and the oppressive emptiness of his home.

He gave Will a call. Several calls, actually, but none of them were answered because Will had his phone on silent, locked in the glove compartment of his vehicle as he performed a stakeout on a certain string shop.

*

“Who do you take me for, Jack? Pick up the phone and call him yourself.”

“I did,” and Jack gave her a stern and controlled look, brows pulled together in annoyance. “Several times actually, but he’s not responding.”

That was odd. It wasn’t like Hannibal to persistently ignore calls, especially not from the FBI who he still had an arrangement with.

“He’s under,” Alana stopped herself mid-sentence because stress could hardly explain his deaf ears. “He’s had some trouble with the Administration.”

“Him as well?” Jack looked surprised. That explanation was enough for him, for someone who didn’t know Hannibal, but for Alana, it was just an excuse that opened up more question. It was so unlike him.

“What do you need him for?”

“I’m just trying to do my job in the middle of all these sanctions. I can’t bring Will in on this, it’s too risky, too many eyes around and—”

Something was troubling the Alpha, other than the obvious, other than his ailing wife at home. Perhaps all of it together, weighing on him, making him look older and older with each passing day. “And I don’t even think I’ll be able to give him his teaching job back,” Jack said finally after a silence that seemed to cover a lot of anger.

Alana made a not to offer some private counselling, later, when Jack didn’t look like he might slip and lash with his tongue at the smallest sign of transgression. It reminded her of Hannibal, of the last time she spoke to him in his office.

“What makes you think that,” Alana asked, carefully shifting her voice to something curious and soothing.

“They keep firing my good men, Alana, Omegas who worked as detectives and Alphas that worked in the labs. This is far beyond Will and his reckless behaviour, this is an example. The Administration is making an example of us.”

His fists tightened and Jack let out a long an exasperated sigh, far too ready to scream at the invisible spectre of the government still moving around his halls.

Alana acted on instinct, moved closer and around to table to lay a friendly but tight grip on his shoulders. At home in their bed, his calming tether was slowly dying and her distance could already be felt. Alana could only do so much with her presence, but it was better than nothing.

“Go home, Jack. Get some rest,” she said with a firm voice, squeezing his shoulder. “This office needs you calm and collected, especially when talking with _them_.” He was too important to be fired, that much was obvious, but there was a lot of damage control to be done, and Jack to do it with a calm and sure attitude. “In turn, I’ll try to get Hannibal on the phone. Deal?” She offered.

Jack didn’t look at her, didn’t answer immediately, but some tension left his shoulders

“Yeah,” he said, “not a bad deal.” There was a very short lived smile in those words, and a tone of thanks.

It felt like an accomplishment, yet Alana couldn’t shake the feeling that something odd was happening right under her nose.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Pardon the glaring mistakes, blah blah, I'm dyslexic, blah.


End file.
